


The Gold and the Grey

by MinervaDashwood



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crossover, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaDashwood/pseuds/MinervaDashwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Brienne of Tarth, on a mission to prove her strength as a warrior, joins in an elite order of knights called the Grey Wardens.  But her hopes dwindle when she finds herself partnered with the disgraced Jaime Lannister--a man without honor <i>and</i> the king's bastard brother.</p><p>Four years ago, Jaime Lannister murdered Roose Bolton and was sentenced to take the Grey. Known throughout the land as "Kinslayer," Jaime only wants to fight, drink wine, and hide behind his oaths. When his new partner assumes that he has shit for honor, he sets out to prove her wrong.</p><p>A divisive battle kills the rest of the the Grey Wardens, however, so Jaime and Brienne are forced to set aside their differences and work together. Or else give up any hope of staying alive.</p><p>Friendship turned romance with lots of fluff and a bit of smut. Along with a fair helping of sword fighting and political treachery.</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Banner by <a href="http://ro-nordmann.tumblr.com/">ro-nordman</a>. Isn't it lovely?</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blank Slate Carved in Stone

**Author's Note:**

> **DA Primer for the Uninitiated**  
> [Opening cinematic.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q94rdV9M1M4)  
> [Written summary.](http://voices.yahoo.com/dragon-age-origins-plot-summary-part-1-7878356.html)  
> [ DA wiki](http://www.dragonage.wikia.com) for more info
> 
> Mainly my approach is plucking some of GRRM's characters and plopping them into the world of Dragon Age. If anything is confusing or out of sorts, please let me know. Comments and questions are always welcome.
> 
> This is my first longer fic in a while, so it may take a little time to get my bearings. Some of this is planned out, most I'm making up as I go.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets Jaime and is...unimpressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick mythology note: Darkspawn are human-like beasts. Through a cruel initiation ritual, experienced Grey Wardens are able to sense where darkspawn are.

On a raised platform amidst the ruins of Ostagar Brienne struggled to keep from biting the inside of her lip as she stood face to face with Jaime Lannister.  
  
"Why don't you stop thinking of me as a woman?" she snapped.  
  
To her dismay, the young Warden's expression didn't falter. "Are you hiding more than poultices under that armor? Has Lord Tarth sent us his son instead of his daughter?"  
  
She glared at him, fuming, and hoped he did not think her hurt by his inciteful words. She had heard them all before. And from men she respected more than the Kinslayer.  
  
"It's Brienne, isn't it? Brienne the Beauty?" His eyebrow quirked as he took a step toward her. His gaze went up and down, and she felt unduly scrutinized, knowing that while she had all the required parts, she was far from feminine, far from beautiful, making the horrid nickname prick her in all the wrong places.  
  
She tried not to let it show.  "Yes, and you're the--"  
  
"Jaime."  
  
"Kinslayer," she finished.  
  
One corner of his mouth flinched, but just as quickly the smirk was back in place. "Resorted to name calling already?" He cocked his head.  
  
She swallowed, her eyes following him as he walked past her and gestured for her to come with him.  
  
"Now, what sort of title is Kinslayer?" he went on. "Is it on account of my skill with a sword? My prowess in battle?"  
  
Brienne stayed silent, following him through the bustling camp. She clasped her hands behind her back and left unsaid the infamous truths regarding Jaime Lannister, ward of Ned Stark and bastard son of the late King Maric.  
  
Four years ago, the Kinslayer had, in the dead of night, murdered the Starks liege lord, Roose Bolton, and a number of Howe's knights. Rather than face a trial and be put to death, the prince had admitted his guilt and taken the Grey. Many in the realm disliked the Boltons, and Jaime had been popular among the people for his easy smile and good showing at tourneys.  
  
But by law he was still a murderer, and Brienne detested him for it. The man was as haughty and snide as if he were a true prince. He had no honor, and she determined it was only the Kinslayer's skill with the sword that kept Lord Stark from beheading the traitor.  
  
The Kinslayer strode past the mages' camp, teetering close to the Fade Circle. The templars, in heavy silver plate, turned their way, and Brienne stared into the thin eye-slits in their helms, unnerved.  Strong and silent, the templars were a respected order of the finest warriors. To bait them was not only nigh sacrilegious but foolish.  
  
Still, Jaime craned his neck around the circle, coming perilously close to breaking the waves of electric energy surrounding the mages.  As one, the two templars started after the Kinslayer, and he hopped away from the circle, waving and smiling, as he changed directions.  
  
"You should not have done that," she warned.  
  
"And why not? They cannot hurt me. No more than you."  
  
In some sense this was true. Taking the Grey gave one certain privileges and protections. Even for men like him--and other dishonorable sorts who were sent to the Grey Warden hold called Weisshaupt--taking the Grey was often a better choice than facing the executioner or the gaoler.  
  
"Still," Brienne pressed, stubbornly. Had the man no respect for the church?  
  
"By your logic," he continued, unfazed, "I could give you some equally vile name. "Welp, churl, bastard...but those are all words for men," he concluded with a wave of his hand.  
  
"I only meant, _ser_ ," Brienne interrupted, desperate to make him shut up, "That I know who you are."  
  
He stopped abruptly and spun to face her. "No, wench, you know who people _say_ I am. Of _me_ you know next to nothing." He glared at her, his bright green eyes unblinking, and she needed to be rid of him as soon as possible.  And then...he smiled. His eyes softened and he was all teeth and dimples grinning at her. He looked almost pleased. "Ah, yes, that'll do just fine. I'll call you wench." He finished, and turned away, walking so quickly she struggled to keep up with him.  
  
She fisted her hands at her side, feeling the boiled leather of her gloves crease against her fingers. She stomped after him. All she'd ever heard of him was true: how his honor knew no depravity, how his words were littered with false truths. And how his smile cut like a knife.  
  
==  
  
The wench was by far the best sword Lord Commander Mormont had recruited, Jaime realized, as he, the Maid of Tarth, and the other two recruits trudged through the forest. The other two seem paltry by comparison, even though one was a trained knight and the other a capable archer.  
  
But what did it matter? They were headed for death anyway, either at their initiation or in the battle. The darkspawn horde and its blight made any of their futures bleak, and Jaime rankled at the thought. Where were the Northern soldiers they were promised? Mace Tyrell's knights? If Jaime's dimwitted half brother was determined to go to war, then so be it, but King Cailan need not drag the Grey Wardens alongside him when Mormont had repeatedly asked the king to wait.  
  
Still, given a choice, he would have liked his chances with ten more warriors who had the size and skill of this wench. Men preferably, though. One freak was enough. She was as strong as a man, and precise with her blade, but beastly to look at up close.  
  
They wound their way through the foggy woods, following the makeshift path the scouting parties had marked before. The horde was a ways off, Jaime assumed, at least he didn't feel it coming their way just yet.  
  
Despite all of this, he did wonder why Lord Commander Mormont was bringing a woman into the order. Women were a rarity in the Grey, so far as Jaime knew, though he supposed every sword was needed, even if it did come with straw-like hair, swollen lips, and too-large teeth.  
  
The wench stopped just ahead of him, her hand gripping her longsword. "Someone--or something--in the ruins," she said her voice soft and low. She crouched, battle ready, and inched forward. Jaime was glad to trail behind her to save himself the pain of looking on her face.  
  
Jaime strained his senses. No darkspawn were near, so far as he could tell, but...yes, someone was there. A hint of magic chilled his skin: a witch.  
  
===  
  
Still standing at the base of the ruins, Jaime huddled with the recruits while the witch watched them argue.  
  
"You should talk to her," the wench said, clearly annoyed and pressing her lips into a thin line. "You're the real Warden here."  
  
Jaime smirked, looking past her and eyeing the scantily clad witch standing a few feet away.  "Part of the test," he shrugged.  In truth, getting the treaties was under his charge, but he had even less interest in talking to this illegal mage than he did Brienne.  
  
"I'm not getting any closer to a witch than I have to," she hissed, glaring at him.  
  
Jaime chuckled.  He and the wench were of a height, and he looked right back at her.  Her eyes blazed an iridescent blue, the color of the sea on a summer's day. That was the only beauty to be found in her otherwise ugly face, beset with freckles and sharp angles.  _Mannish_ , he decided.  
  
"You'll rage upon demonic beasts but draw the line at witches?" He mocked.  
  
"You have Templar training," she argued. "Or did you spend your time murdering them in their sleep, too?"  
  
"Such anger."  She seemed determined to judge him on rumors instead of first hand knowledge. And six months training with the Templars hardly counted as expertise. It was simply another one of Lord Ned Stark's failed attempts to get Jaime out of his household. Before everything else had happened.  
  
"You have no honor, Kinslayer," she huffed, turning away from him and approaching the witch, her sword sheathed but her hand still on the hilt.  
  
In truth, Jaime wasn't too concerned about the forest mage. If the witch tried casting any spells, he could cleanse the area quickly, so long as she didn't have an extra witch or three hiding in the rubble. So he let the wench advance to parlay with this Melisandre and he watched.  
  
A few minutes later, Brienne returned. She shoved the packet of yellowed parchment into his breastplate.  
  
"Here are your documents, Kinslayer," she said and stomped passed him.  "Let us be gone before she turns us all to leeches."  
  
==

When night fell, Lord Commander Mormont charged Brienne and the Kinslayer, much to her chagrin, to climb the Tower of Ishal and light a beacon for Stannis Baratheon's army. Brienne wanted to join the charge with the other Grey Wardens, but Mormont had refused her.

When she and the Kinslayer made it to the tower, it was already seized by darkspawn. Some of the king's soldiers escorted them into the tower, but the two of them were left alone to climb it.

Even inside Brienne could still hear the clamor of battle outdoors. Cold sweat formed on her gloved palms.  Her body was reeling from the affects of drinking the darkspawn blood at her initiation.  
  
The Kinslayer grunted at her. "We're going to be late. Come on."  
  
She followed him up the stairs, listening warily for sounds beyond the doors. Despite her protestations earlier, it was good he had come along after all. She'd no way to sense the darkspawn or the their mages--called emissaries--and knowing what they were up against had its advantages.  
  
They climbed the stairs, one after another, taking down small bands of beasts that had infiltrated the tower.  The Kinslayer was as good with his sword and shield as she was with her longsword, and they made quick work of the dumb brutes.  
  
The emissaries gave them no little trouble, however. Brienne had been stricken with lightning and fire both before she learned to stay behind Jaime so he could cleanse the area. While Tarth had its share of bandits and outlaws, mages were in short supply.  
  
Bounding onto the top floor, Brienne crowded into the doorway next to him, her eyes boring into the darkness to find the beacon  
  
"It's clear," he shouted in her ear. He relaxed his shoulders and paced a few steps beyond the door.  "You light it, and I'll keep watch."  
  
Brienne sheathed her sword and fished out flint and steel from her pocket. She'd had little enough practice lighting fires, but it only took her five strikes to set the tinder ablaze and a few breaths of air to make the flames take life.  
  
She watched the fire flicker and travel up the beacon, setting the column alight. Something like thunder sounded in the distance, and she shuddered involuntarily, remembering the lightning from the emissary. She hurriedly made her way to Jaime who was pulling his sword from his scabbard.  
  
==  
  
Jaime felt the floor rumble beneath him. Darkspawn were crawling over the tower, and he could scarce tell one group from the next.    
  
This was not what taking the Grey meant, he thought. He was not to end his days next to an ugly wench trapped in a tower with beasts about to swarm over them.  He should have been in Weisshaupt, that ancient castle far away from the capital and its politics, far away from the nobility. He was meant to be sipping wine and going on short marches, not playing at war with a naive king.  
  
But no, he was here, saddled with the freakish wench while his half brother--by the looks of it--lost the battle below.  
  
"An exit," he murmured, half to himself. He slid his sword back into its scabbard, barred the door, and shoved past the wench. The beacon sent flickering light all over the dimly lit room, and he searched for a trap door, a ladder, anything to get him out of there.  
  
He'd scarcely found the rope coiled in the corner before the wench was shouting at him.  
  
"Kinslayer! What is it?"  
  
The barred, wooden door cracked, an ear-splitting sound, and burst open.  Scrambling to the rope, he dragged it to the nearest pillar and began knotting it around the stone.  
  
His fingers made quick work of the rough cord, but not quick enough.  
  
The floor shook, and an ogre burst into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's first line of dialogue comes from the Dragon Age game, and was my first spark of inspiration for this fic.
> 
> Next time: An ogre, a witch, and a cabin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ogre and a witch. The Kinslayer proves his mettle.

The rope was secure, but Jaime had no time to find the window and climb out of it.  
  
In the middle of the room, Brienne stood with her sword braced before her, but what good was a narrow blade of steel against a beast as large as a ballista?  
  
Yet the wench didn't waver, not even when the ogre ran for her. She leapt out of the way just before the beast flung out its fist, and the wench sliced her blade through the monster's flesh. The cut was shallow, however, and the ogre undeterred.  
  
The beast was distracted, so Jaime could make his own escape and leave the wench to her own devices. The notion chilled him.  He uncoiled the rope and flung it out a narrow window, and then pulled a flask of oil from his belt. It wasn't the wisest plan, but it was something.  
  
The ogre rampaged in the room, but the wench dodged its every attack, keeping her sword poised and feet moving.  
  
His heart hammering, Jaime ripped the grey cloak from his shoulders and doused it in oil. The next step would take careful planning and quick hands.  
  
"Wench!" he shouted. "Wench!"  She fought on, stepping to the left and narrowly missing the ogre's footfall.  
  
"Brienne!" he yelled, and finally the wench looked his way.  "Run!"  
  
She glanced from him to the ogre, and hesitated half a second before sprinting towards him. Jaime lit the corner of his cloak from the beacon, and flung the flaming garment at the charging ogre. The fabric caught the ogre's knee and set the beast ablaze.  
  
Not missing a second, Jaime grabbed the wench's arm and dragged her to the window.  
  
"Go" he ordered.  
  
She glanced from him then to the rope. "You will cut it."  
  
He nearly shoved her out the window, but it would take less effort to leave her to the darkspawn.  
  
"You go first," she said, a mess of sweaty hair covering her brow.  
  
He shook his head. Having her climb out after him, large cow that she was, didn't strike him as a good plan.  "I'm the senior Warden," he reminded her. "Now go."  
  
Clearly displeased, but moving nonetheless, the wench climbed up the windowsill, gripped the rope, and lowered herself over the edge.  
  
==  
  
Brienne descended in the darkness, counting the passing of the windows until she reached the ground. The battle raged a league away, but here she stood, silent and alone.  
  
The beacon would bring reinforcements, she knew. Lord Stannis Baratheon, the the king's advisor,  would advance with his soldiers. Then the both armies would surround the horde, leaving the darkspawn no way to retreat and no way to advance.  This would allow Grey Wardens would swoop in--not on griffons like in the old tales but from the rearguard--and finish off the horde.  
  
Brienne took deep gulps of air in the darkness, and welcomed the chilly breeze as it crossed her face.  An ogre, she never thought she'd see one in living flesh, and yet she had fought it. The beast was monstrously strong, but hulking and slow as well.  
   
She almost missed the rush of the battle, the challenge, but the Kinslayer was right to make a quick exit. The tower was beset with too many foes, and wisest choice was to wait for more of Lord Stannis's knights before heading back into the fray.  
  
Brienne's breathing settled now, and she stared up the side of the tower, eyes straining in the darkness. Orange flames licked the windows to the east, the side of the room the Kinslayer had lit on fire. If he didn't make his way down the rope soon, he would be in danger of catching fire too.  
  
Another moment passed, then another. She grew restless, standing still in the darkness, watching the flames grow and reach out the windows.  
  
 _I should go back for him_ , she thought. She tugged on the rope and began to climb.  She was nearing the second floor when a flaming sword and shield flew out the window.  The Kinslayer's silhouette appeared above her, red orange fire growing around him.  
  
"Get down, wench!" he shouted, and climbed onto the rope.  
  
How long would the rope hold? The fire had spread around the tower, its flames licking and consuming everything.  Now the cord supported both their bodies, and Jaime was nearly as large as her. Brienne slid down the rope as fast as she could, thankful for her leather gloves and steel boots.  Just as her feet hit the ground, the rope went slack, and fell to the ground.  
  
The Kinslayer followed with it, and his body plummeting in the darkness until it landed on the ground next to her.  
  
"Kinslayer?" she asked kneeling next to him. He groaned, as he rolled over, still alive Brienne saw, relieved. In the fire-lit night, his eyes met hers and grew wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but Brienne never heard what he said. Flaming bricks and stones tumbled from the tower and buried them.  
  
==  
  
Jaime awoke in a bed with a warm body nestled next to him. For half a moment, he thought it was Cersei, but they'd never shared a bed, only lovemaking. Stirring under the covers, he kept his eyes closed and stretched his limbs.  
  
Back at the army camp, he supposed, abed with some other Warden or soldier. A mage must have healed him because none of the burns from the fire smarted nor did the injuries from his fall ache. He had survived after all.  
  
"Kinslayer?"  
  
Jaime went still. By the Maker, was that the wench? Beside him? In the bed?  
  
He made to throw off the covers, but the wench's hand gripped his arm beneath the blankets.  
  
"Kinslayer," she whispered. "The witch."  
  
==  
  
"Oh, you're both awake," the Melisandre chimed. "Lovely." The red-haired witch stood next to the fireplace, almost smiling.  Fear and dread coiled in Brienne's stomach. Unfamiliar with mages and being in the company of an apostate made Brienne ill at ease. 

Still, she unwound her hand from the Kinslayer's forearm, and sat up in the bed. She wore a shirt and breeches, not hers but a good fit, if a little short in the arms. "Where have you brought us?" she asked, looking from the witch to the Kinslayer.  
  
"Our cabin," the witch said, hovering over a pot by the fire and dropping food and spices into it.  
  
"Ours?" the Kinslayer asked. He was standing next to the bed now, shirtless but still wearing breeches, Brienne was relieved to see. He looked no worse for wear, she noticed, In fact, he seemed strong and healthy, despite falling four stories from a burning building.  
  
"My teacher Mirri and I live here.  She is the one who healed your wounds." The witch nodded at the Kinslayer.  
  
"But the tower," Brienne murmured.  "The darkspawn...did the king's army find us?"  
  
The witch shook her head.  "The king's army is no more, I'm afraid.  The Lord of Light sent me to you." The witch's voice was light and dismissive. "He has plans for you."  
  
Brienne glanced to the Kinslayer, and he rolled his eyes and made a spiraling motion with his finger. Well, at least he agreed with Brienne on something.  
  
Melisandre straighted and smoothed a hand down her robe. "In good time, Warden, R'hllor will show you."  
  
"The king's army is _no more_?" the Kinslayer said, finding a shirt on the bedpost and pulling it on. "Did they lose the battle?  Where are we?"  
  
Brienne took stock of her surroundings, seeing her armor piled next to the bed, her swordbelt hanging from a nearby chair. The one room cabin was small, with only the bed, two chairs and a stool for furniture--which explained why she was lying next to the Kinslayer.  
  
It made Brienne think of old tales of wizened women who practiced dark witchcraft in secret. She shivered at the thought.  
  
"It seems," Melisandre began, looking relaxed, "that Lord Baratheon quit the field of battle."  
  
"No," Breinne blurted. "He wouldn't." Stannis Baratheon was King Cailan's most trusted advisor. An honorable, just man, though hard of will and expression. But not a deserter.  
  
The Kinslayer sank onto the bed, staring wide-eyed at the witch. Gone was his smirk and haughty glare, replaced by a softness that startled Brienne.  
  
"And the Wardens?" he asked, voice quiet.  
  
"Gone as well," Melisandre said, dipping her head in the Kinslayer's direction. "Aside from you and the lady." She turned back to her pot stirring it.  "It is R'hollor's will."  
  
Brow furrowed, Brienne met the Kinslayer's eyes. "Can what she say be true? We should return to the battlefield. See for ourselves."  
  
He shook his head. "Stannis did not want this battle. He begged Cailan to wait. So did Mormont. The witch probably speaks the truth."  
  
"What of your--our brothers?" Brienne persisted. She scarce knew the names of any Grey Wardens aside from the Kinslayer and Mormont. But to think that all those men were gone...  
  
The Kinslayer broke her gaze and studied his hands. "I do not feel them. I feel the darkspawn, but not them."  
  
Brienne busied her hands with making the bed, and the Kinslayer straightened the covers on his side as well.  That done, she made to don her armor. She'd feel safer within it. Protected.  
  
"Where are my things?" the Kinslayer said. "Armor? Clothing? Weapons?"  
  
The witch sighed. "You'll find your weapons outside. Your amor was destroyed, I'm afraid. But you can keep what you're wearing. The man who owned them is no more."  
  
The Kinslayer flashed his eyes at Brienne and frowned. Looking away, she pulled on her greaves and boots. It was not her fault he took so long climbing out the window. She had given him the choice to go first, and he'd refused it.  
  
None of this was her fault, she knew, but...Maker, she could not grudge Ser Jaime his anger. Since the battle had started, none of it had gone as planned. And while she'd lost comrades, the Kinslayer may very well had lost his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaime gets a dog.


	3. A Cabin in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Grey Wardens form a questionable alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Dragon Age, Ferelden is a single land mass. But for this crossover, I wanted to maintain the fact that Brienne is from Tarth, an island, because it informs a lot of her identity.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos to all who left them!

Mirri Maz Durr had stringy brown hair, a large belly, and grey, glassy eyes. Short of stature, she scarcely reached Jaime's chest. Yet, he knew she was powerful.  He felt the electric tendrils of magic radiating from her.  
  
He stared at the old witch for a moment before finding what was left of his armor piled outside the cabin.  
  
"A good smith can fix that for you," she said.  
  
"Yes, I know." Jaime squatted and ran his hands over the light gold plate, its etchings and shape almost unrecognizable beneath his fingertips. He rummaged through the pile, searching the pockets and padding. Barely any of it was salvageable. Some of the metal could be melted and reworked, but mostly everything else was in tatters.  
  
Still, he finally found what he was looking for: a tiny leather satchel filled with coins, mostly bits and silvers, but money nonetheless.  
  
That done, he inspected his sword and shield. Both needed polished but were still useable, so he slid the sword through his belt and strapped the shield to his back.  
  
The loss of the armor was great, but at least he had the coin to find some sort of replacement. Provided of course, he could find his way out of the forest and to the nearest smith. It may be a while before that happened.  
  
"Kinslayer."  
  
Jaime turned to find the wench staring at him. Her straw-like hair was combed, framing her homely face, brown freckles on pale skin. It was little wonder whatever family she had on Tarth sent her to the mainland. She'd be too ugly to marry off and too stubborn to make good company.  
  
"We should not tarry here," she asserted. "We should find a town and send word to Weisshaupt."  
  
She made it all sound so simple.

"I'm not leaving these woods anytime soon, wench. Go if you must." Ha, that would show her. Let her find her own way north.  
  
"Kinslayer--"  
  
He stalked toward her to find her pale, freckled face frowning at him.  
  
"What part of this is confusing for you, wench?"  
  
"My name is Brienne," she said, jutting out her chin and glaring at him.  
  
"So it is, _wench_." _And mine is Jaime_. "The Wardens are done. The king is dead. The horde moves, all around us, and if I get any closer to it, I'll be gone too. I don't intend to let that happen."  
  
Her eyes widened in shock. "You mean to abandon our cause?"  
  
She was daft, simple-minded even, and it took all the patience he could muster to not brandish his sword and make an end of her. "Cause? What cause?" He sneered at the ground and ran a hand through his hair. "You plan to stop the horde with the two of us? Which one of us should slay the archdemon? Hm?"  
  
"I will not be a deserter."  
  
"Why not? It seems to be the fashion."  He thought of Stannis Baratheon, the hard-faced general. A generation ago, he and King Maric united and freed Ferelden. The man was a hero throughout the realm. But he had left King Cailan to die. Left the Wardens to die.  
  
Jaime would bet anyone hundred sovereigns no one would call _him_ a Kingslayer.  
  
"That is not all you have, Warden."  The old witch hobbled up next to him. "These may help." She handed Jaime a packet of documents.  
  
"The treaties!" the wench exclaimed. "Yes, the treaties."  
  
"Wait," Jaime said. "Why do you have these? I left them with Mormont."  
  
"R'hllor brought them to me." She nodded, stringy hair matted around her face and head.  
  
 _Another lunatic_ , Jaime told himself. And yet the documents were sealed and undamaged.  
  
"Kinslayer, we should deliver those," the wench prattled on. "The treaties will bring the elves, dwarves, and the Circle of Magi to our cause."  
  
"And how do you suppose we get around the horde?" he demanded. He could feel the darkspawn swarming on the land, leaving a blight in its wake. "Do you think they'll just let us pass them by?"  
  
"We can help with that, Warden," the old witch coaxed. "Melisandre will travel with you. Her magic can keep the darkspawn from sensing you. How do you think we've kept you safe here?"  
  
She had a point, Jaime realized, yet he was not about to keep company with either one of these witches. He'd take the wench with him--she was not like to leave him alone anyway--but not a witch.  
  
Melisandre came out of the cabin then, wearing a read cloak and holding a large pack in her hand. "R'hllor wills it."  
  
"You will not come to harm with us," Brienne said to the witch, making Jaime stare at her, aghast.  She leaned toward him whispering, "Better one witch and two swords, Kinslayer." She took his forearm in her gloved hand and pulled him aside. "We are not likely to last long if we don't do as they wish."  
  
Maker take her, the wench was right.  
  
"One mage is not so bad," she continued, voice hushed. "You can keep us safe."  
  
"I can?" he said, bemused. Wasn't she just going on about how he was a deserter and calling him a Kinslayer?  
  
"You could have left me in that tower. You didn't." She inclined her head at him.  
  
Truth be told, he could say the same to her. She could have quit the tower without him, but what had she done instead? She had climbed back after him.  
  
"Very well," he said, facing the witches. "You can come with us.  
  
==  
  
The direwolf was bare bones and shaggy-haired, and where there wasn't grey matted fur, there was exposed skin and fleas.  Still, Brienne did not dare approach it.  
  
They were about three hours away from the cabin, the trek through the woods proving slow and tedious.  They had provisions to last them a few days, but Brienne hoped it would not take so long to find their way out of the forest. She'd feel better somewhere with open skies and open air; tall trees and grass left her feeling suffocated and trapped.  
  
"Poor thing has lost its pack," Melisandre mused beside Brienne. The witch cocked her head and studied the dog.  
  
The beast stared at them in turn, but it made no move to snarl or show its teeth.  _It is too weak_ , she thought, feeling pity for the poor animal. Nothing but darkspawn for miles, either killing the animals in its wake or making them flee.  
  
Sighing, the Kinslayer stared at the witch. "Friend of yours?" He smirked, his bright green eyes flashing with false amusement. Brienne was disappointed--but not surprised--to see that his grief in no way tempered his proclivity for sharp words.  
  
Brienne said, "We should just keep going. It doesn't appear to mean us harm."  
  
The dog whined and took a few footsteps toward them.  
  
"It is said a direwolf understands the speech of men," the witch provided.  
  
"Why don't you try asking it where the nearest tavern is," the Kinslayer sneered, and Brienne shot him a glare. He didn't notice.  
  
Meanwhile, the direwolf trotted forward, its head lowered and tail swooshing, until it stopped in front of the Kinslayer and laid its head on his boot.  
  
"No," the Kinslayer said, staring at the hound. He shook his foot and walked away, gesturing for Melisandre to continue walking.  
  
The wolf whined and padded up to sit at the Kinslayer's feet again.  
  
"It will keep following us," Melisandre said.  
  
"Then I should put an end to it. It's nearly dead anyway." The Kinslayer made to draw his sword.  
  
"No!" Brienne exclaimed. The wolf was hungry, that was all, and lonely. It only wanted for food and company.  
  
"You keep it then," the Kinslayer huffed, but the dog whined and nudged his leg with its snout.  
  
"It doesn't want Lady Brienne," Melisandre argued. "It has chosen you."  
  
The Kinslayer barked a laugh. "Right, a direwolf has imprinted on me, in the middle of the forest."  
  
"It is R'h--"  
  
He waved his hand dismissively. "Will. Yes, so you've said."  He shrugged. "A witch, a wench, a mutt, and a kinslayer. Wonderful."  
  
"My name is Brienne."  
  
The Kinslayer grinned at her. "Oh, is it? Must have slipped my mind."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: More on the Kinslayer's past. Jaime gives Brienne a cloak.


	4. Cloak and Dagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime gives Brienne a cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the cliched title, but it quite fits this chapter, I think.
> 
> I'm mixing up some of the asoiaf characters to fit this story, so strangely Cersei is related to Robb, Bran and the rest. Please don't hate me for it too much.
> 
> Thanks for your comments, they keep me inspired!

They spent the night under the shadows of large trees, which is to say a spot not much different from any other in the forest.  The direwolf kept on Jaime's heels, its tongue always lolling about and its tail constantly swishing.  And the damnable thing slept beside his bedroll as well.  
  
Surely once they reached a town, it would find others to annoy. Jaime did not think he'd be so lucky where the wench and the witch were concerned, however.  
  
Along the journey, Brienne interrogated him endlessly. On the Wardens, on Weisshaupt, on the treaties.  He saw little point in it. It would be best to foist the treaties and the wench off on the nearest army. Traitor though Stannis was, it would be his lands the darkspawn would find next.  
  
Meanwhile, Jaime would...well, he wasn't quite sure on that point. But a journey north was not out of the question. He could make his way back to Highever, where Ned Stark was lord. They'd give him coin, perhaps. Jaime would tell them of the Wardens' demise, and Lord Stark would listen with sympathetic ears and a stern face. Jaime could say he'd use the coin to rebuild the order, but instead he could be on his way to the Free Marches or Kirkwall, far from tales of the Kinslayer and any cursed darkspawn. And Cersei.  
  
Now _that_ smarted. It had been nearly four years since he'd last seen her, and yet she intruded on his thoughts, both unwanted and unbidden.    
  
She was Ned's eldest, and so she and Jaime had grown up together as brother and sister. First they played as children, then as lovers, though only in secret. Even when a political alliance forced her into marrying some Antivan nobleman, it put no damper on her desire for Jaime. Thus their lovemaking continued in earnest. Cersei was ever careful, and Jaime had never spilled his seed in her. Though to look back on it, he would have enjoyed seeing Ned Stark's face when he learned a bastard prince had made his daughter with child.  
  
 _Naive northerners_ , Jaime thought, remembering.  
  
But he missed them. Missed Bran and Rickon's swordplay, Rob's company, Ned's counsel, for what it was. Jaime may have been almost a prisoner in their house, but they had treated him as family.  Until the night that all changed.  
  
It was on the second day that he, Brienne and the witch found the bodies hanging from the trunk of a dead tree that spanned two landmasses.  They were three men, all armored in grey, with silver-grey weapons and cloaks besides.  
  
Jaime knew their names well enough, but he never spoke them. Still, that did not stop the wench looking upon the scene with horror and remorse.  
  
"Who would do such a thing?" she breathed, standing next to him, ugly mouth agape and horse teeth poking out every which way.  
  
"Darkspawn," Jaime replied, though he silently admitted he didn't know the why of it any more than she did.  
  
"We should bury them," she said at once, clamping her jaw shut and jutting her chin forward.  
  
"With what?" he laughed.  "You have a spade under that armor as well as a cock?"  That shut the wench up, for a time.  
  
But the witch was another matter. She removed her hood and gazed almost lovingly up at the hanging corpses. "We can burn them as a sacrifice to R'hllor."  
  
"No," Jaime said at once. Wretch though he may be, he was not about to hand the bodies of his brothers over this witch and her cretinous Lord of Light.  
  
Instead, Jaime climbed the hillside and across the tree trunk where he began cutting at the ropes with his dagger.  When he made it back to the ground, both of the women were staring at the bodies, Brienne with stone-faced solemnity and Melisandre with what Jaime could only describe as child-like glee.  
  
==  
  
The Kinslayer set about stripping the dead Wardens, and it took several moments for Brienne to realize what he was doing.  
  
"Kinslayer, you--you should not."  His earlier remark was still spinning in her head, making it difficult for her to speak. His voice was but one among many others she'd heard before--their japes just as harsh and insulting--but from men she respected more than the Kinslayer. Time had not made hearing them any easier, however. _Let it wash over you like water_ , she told herself, taking in a shaky breath.  
  
"There's a thing you should learn about the Grey, wench." The Kinslayer smiled at her, though his eyes were cruel. "Nothing is wasted. These sworn brothers are dead. Armor won't help them now. The order barely has resources to feed and shelter itself, let alone waste a perfectly good breastplate."  
  
He continued at his work, stripping one of Wardens. Then, he stripped himself, making Brienne flush and look away until he had outfitted himself in the dead man's armor.  
  
"Come here, Brienne."  She was about to refuse, despite the use of her given name. But Brienne saw him fold the dead Warden's arms across his breast, and put a sword in the man's hands.  
  
 _Not as indecorous as I thought_ , Brienne realized, stepping towards him.  Jaime removed a grey cloak from another body and shook it free of grass, leaves, and dirt.  
  
"Villainous as you think I am," he said, circling her, "I wear my colors proudly." Behind her, he fastened the cloak to her armor. "And when we find ourselves back in civilization, these colors will find us shelter and allies.  Wear them well."  
  
Brienne blushed at his words, and though she still thought him dishonorable, the cloak made her proud. She remembered begging her father to let her leave Tarth, to let her lend her blade against the darkspawn. " _The Grey is filled with oathbreakers and thieves_ ," he'd said.  " _They have honorable men, too_ ," she persisted. " _Benjen Stark and others. Besides, what is there for me here?_ " Her father had nodded, but not changed his mind. At least not then.  
  
"Thank you, kin--Ser Jaime," she murmured.    
  
"You're welcome, Brienne." He nodded at her as he tightened his swordbelt around his trim waist.  
  
==  
  
By the end of the third day, the forest began to thin. The trees were smaller, allowing bright rays of sunlight filter through their thin leaves. What was more, Jaime felt free from the darkspawn's connection, and that meant he was far enough away to keep from being detected. He wagered the King's Highway was not far off, and so long as he minded the sun, he was like as not to find the road soon.  
  
That night, he took first watch, not bothering to remove his armor or even unpack his bedroll. The moon was full, and it was a cloudless night. Not a bad one for walking in the woods.  
  
When he was sure the witch was fast asleep--he could tell by the way her pretty face went slack and she drooled onto her pillow--he nudged the wench awake with his foot.  
  
"Brienne," he said in a loud whisper. She rolled out of her bed and found her feet with all the grace and noise of an ox.  
  
"How many?" she demanded, sword in hand  
  
He held up a hand to quiet her. "No one's attacking us," he whispered. "Get your things. We're leaving."  
  
She stared at him. "Why?"  
  
"I want to be rid of the witch," he whispered. "I know my way from here, and the horde is not nearby. We don't need her anymore."  
  
"But--but--" the wench sputtered, glancing at the Melisandre sleeping on the other side of the fire. "We should not leave her. All alone in the woods."  
  
He gawked at her. She was almost pretty in night, pale moonlight glistening her hair, her blue eyes reflecting the fire's glow. And he found himself not caring the reason why she followed him but only that she did. It was absurd notion, he told himself, and pushed the thought from his mind.  
  
Still, he realized that he'd fair better with the wench in tow. His face was famous enough that most would be loath to believe him or show him any kindness. If he had this Lady of Tarth alongside him, however, he'd look more respectable--and handsomer by far.  Perhaps he could drag her to Highever with him, then take ship and leave the country.  
  
"These are her woods," he explained. "She is a witch of the wilds, and she can find her own way home."  
  
"You are the commander now," she said in the dark.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If the others are dead, you are the Grey Warden Commander. Does this mean you intend to deliver the treaties? I mean to keep my vows, Kinslayer, and I will not follow you just because you will it."  
  
"Fine. Yes, I will deliver the treaties" _to someone_ "and I'll be the damned Commander." _Just so you'll shut up_. "Will you go now?"  
  
The wench agreed and made quick work of donning her armor and packing her things.  But before they departed, she left a third of their rations and a dagger with Melisandre, earning her a smirk from Jaime.  
  
"Spells take time to craft," she explained to him, "and she would do the same for us."  
  
"Would she? I think she's like as not to put us in a stew. Stir us in with some darkspawn and direwolf meat."  
  
The wolf whined at him, and Brienne said, "Then why did she help us all this way? And heal your wounds?"  
  
"Because she wants something from us, though by the Maker, I don't know what."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"Most are not of a mind to help others with nothing in return."  
  
"You are...a cold man, Kinslayer."  
  
He almost cringed at the nickname, but he didn't want to give the wench the satisfaction.  "Ready?" he asked, indicating the pile of goods left next to the witch's bed.  
  
She nodded, and soon they were, off, Jaime following the stars as he'd learned in his childhood.  The wench clambered along beside him, and soon Jaime realized the stupid direwolf was coming too.  
  
"You should name it," Brienne said. "Direwolves imprint for life. Until their masters die, that is."  
  
"How does 'Bitch' sound?" Jaime replied, annoyed.  
  
She frowned at him. "The wolf is not female."  
  
"Ah, and you would be the expert, wouldn't you, _wench_?"  She glared at him, and Jaime forgot any notions about her being pretty, moonlight or no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Our heroes find a common enemy; Brienne has a nightmare.


	5. Kingslayers, The Lot O' Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sword fight and a late night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly making our heroes share a room, unconventional plot points be damned.

They came upon the men on the King's Highway. The group was poorly armored and their weapons even shoddier. Farmers or militia men, most like: not highly trained nor highly born. But they were numerous.  
  
The wench tried to bargain with them, her chin jutting out. To Jaime she looked almost haughty, though her words were sincere. To her at least.  
  
"We are Grey Wardens," she told them, "and we mean you no harm."  
  
"Aye, but we mean _you_ harm," their leader said, brandishing a shortsword made of cheap steel. "Lord Baratheon has promised two-hundred sovereigns to any man who brings him the head of a Grey Warden."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"You're the ones what killed the king!" the man answered.  
  
 _That_ surprised even Jaime, for while he had always been reviled for being the Kinslayer, taking the Grey had protected him from the most overt of discourtesies. To learn that Baratheon had spread lies about the order chilled him.  
  
 _What else has changed since I slept in that cabin?_ he wondered.  
  
The direwolf growled at the men, but the makeshift militia was undeterred, and they shouted, "Kingslayers!" as they and encircled him and Brienne.    
  
Quick as a flash Brienne placed her back against Jaime's so that neither of them were unguarded, and the wolf stood by Jaime's feet, snarling and baring its teeth.    
  
The motley band closed in, and soon steel sang in the air. They bore scythes and axes, some even hoes and spades.  Yet they were poorly trained, swinging with more fury than skill, so their blows were easy to block, dodge, and overcome.    
  
Though they did not speak to one another, Brienne never left him. She grunted behind him, her voice guttural but not strained, and every swing of her blade was true, blocking and striking in equal measure. Sometimes she took out two men with a single swipe.  _She fights as well as any man I've known_ , he thought, using his shield to block an axe plunging toward her shoulder.  Then she arced her sword to the right, slicing through the axe-bearer.  Any man who tried approaching Jaime from the right or Brienne's left, met the fangs of the direwolf, and though the beast was not strong or agile enough to bite through armor, its attacks gave Jaime a chance to finish of the others quickly.  
  
It was not the most trying of fights, but Jaime enjoyed it nonetheless. He loved the weight of the blade in his hand, the powerful way sword and shield felt like extensions of his body. Though his armor did not fit as well as he would like, it protected him as well as any other.  Thank you, brother, he silently prayed to the ghost of his fallen comrade.  
  
The group's leader was the last one standing, and though his eyes expressed shock and desperation, he charged at Jaime, sword held forward.    
  
"Yield!" Brienne shouted, but the man ignored her, leaving himself open to Jaime's sword.  Jaime slashed his blade across the man's jerkin, making blood pool over his chest, and Jaime kicked him to the ground before burying the edge of his sword in the man's throat.  
  
"They meant to kill us," Brienne said, her breath shaky as she stared at the corpses.  He was as shocked as her, though he did not say so.  
  
"They were stupid," he told her. "Greedy and stupid."  
  
"Greedy men dress themselves in silk." She kneeled amidst the bodies, the small breeze lifting tendrils of her hair. "These were poor men. Desperate men."  
  
Jaime almost pitied them, seeing them through her eyes.  
  
"Poorer now," he remarked, and that earned him a glare as Brienne rose to her feet.  
  
He smiled at her as he sheathed his sword and hung his shield on his back. "It wasn't much of a fight, but you did well."  
  
"I know that, Kinslayer," she retorted, glaring at him with sapphire eyes and pudgy lips. "So did you."  
  
He laughed. "Was that a compliment?"  
  
She flushed and turned away from him, making her cloak whip in the breeze. The direwolf licked at Jaime's hands, its jowls and teeth covered in blood.  
  
"I've thought of a name," he announced, keeping his voice light. She faced him again, her expression cautiously hopeful.  "Grey Wind."  
  
Her eyes widened, and she showed him what was almost a smile. "That is a good name."  
  
"Yes," he said. _Almost as good as wench._  
  
==  
  
Brienne had to roll up her cloak and stuff it in the bottom of her pack. Just until they got out of the Southlands, Jaime told her.  As for Jaime, there was little they could do. None of the militiamen's clothes would fit him, and his face was too well-known besides.  
  
They traveled for some time, heading northeast.  Brienne had fleeting thoughts of taking ship to Tarth, to Father. But what of the Kinslayer? Would he go with her? She shuddered to think of bringing the mutinous knight under her father's roof.    
  
Nor would she return home a failure so that all the ship captains and fisherfolk thought that even the Grey Wardens didn't want her. The Wardens didn't want her so much that nearly all of them had ended up dead.  
  
She chastised herself for that train of thought. It was a child's logic, and Brienne had stopped being a girl when she left her father's house to become a knight.  
  
"Brienne," the Kinslayer interrupted her thoughts, and she noticed the sun was starting to set behind them.  "We should find an inn soon, just over the next hill. "I have some coin. Not much, but a little. You will go ahead and rent us a room. _Don't_ let the innkeep swindle you. Maker knows he'll try."  
  
"A single room?" Brienne blanched, horrified.  
  
"Relax," he murmured, grinning at her with those green eyes she was coming to loathe and admire in the same breath. "You'll still wake to find yourself the Maid of Tarth."  
  
She blushed and looked away from him, swallowing against the embarrassment swelling in her breast.  
  
"We'll be safer if we stay together. Should anyone root us out, we can make a quick retreat or a quick siege."  
  
Brienne did as he commanded, but she resolved to wear her armor even to bed, and to keep her sword next to her.  
  
They left Grey Wind tied up by the stables and supped in the common room's darkest corner. Brienne fetched food and drink for them both so no one would look upon Jaime's face. He ate and drank heartily, much more than her, though she was not a light eater. He downed many goblets of wine while Brienne only had cider.  
  
As the evening wore on, the common room emptied, and Brienne's stomach turned into a great boulder of dread. _It is not so very different from camp_ , she told herself. Then they'd slept near each other around the fire. Of course, they had not been confined by walls and a roof.  Brienne knew she was blushing as they made their way up the steps and into their room.  
  
"You can take the bed, wench" the Kinslayer said once he'd barred the door. "Now you can't say I'm entirely without honor."  
  
No, she could not, but the stone of dread in her belly grew no smaller.  
  
The place was lit by a single lantern, but the room itself so small that did not matter. Brienne took the bed, not wanting to argue with him, and she crawled under the covers, hoping she'd not need to find the privy in the middle of the night. Her body had forgotten the comfort of a true bed, however, and even on the thin mattress she was swaddled in softness and warmth.  Fatigue she'd not realized overcame her.  
  
She watched through heavy eyelids as the Kinslayer made his bed on the floor below her. He removed his armor in the yellow light, his movements slow and sloppy, and Brienne realized he was drunk. He'd barely removed the last of his armor before he turned down the lantern and slumped onto his bedroll.  
  
The sudden darkness and stillness made Brienne aware of her breath and heartbeat, of Jaime's quiet breathing from the floor. The rhythms nearly lulled her to sleep, her body going lax in the bed and the hand around her sword hilt falling onto her blanket.  
  
"His name was Jory Cassel," the Kinslayer's voice announced in the darkness. "The man whose armor I took. He was a younger son of some castellan in the north--I forget who."  
  
"Did you know him long?" Brienne said wearily, her slumber making her say the first words that came to mind.  
  
"As soon as I took the Grey. He presided over my initiation, like I did yours."  
  
Brienne remembered the tragic ceremony where she had to drink the darkspawn blood, how it had brought her to her knees and nearly killed her. And it _had_ killed the other men she was sworn in with.  
  
"Once," Jaime continued, and the sonorous sound of his voice made Brienne's eyes close, "We came upon an inn along the River Dane. We were tracking some darkspawn to the south. It was the rainy season, and the flood waters had washed away some of its foundation.  Jory made us repair it as payment for staying there.  It was hard work, especially for me then..."  
  
His voice softened and Brienne thought he might have fallen asleep, but a moment later, he resumed his tale.  
  
"He made me carry rocks and boulders from the river while he stood on the crest of the hill. Of course, other brothers worked too, but it was me Jory watched and ordered around. I grew blisters on my hands and feet. I went to bed hating him, hating all of them.  But the next morning Jory told me he was proud of my work, and he let me take command for the rest of the week, though it was my first month wearing the Grey."  
  
Brienne thought he almost sounded sad at the end of his tale, and and even in her sleepiness she waited for a quip or snide remark that never came.

Some long moments passed, and she finally said, "I am sorry I didn't get to know him. Any of them."  
  
"I imagine so," he sighed. "Now you're all alone with the Kinlsayer."  
  
Brienne bit her lip in the darkness, trying to decide what to say. The drink had turned his sharp tongue blunt, but she wanted to think remorse in his voice was sincere.  
  
"Jaime," she felt safe saying his name to the darkness, "what will happen to us? Where will we go?"  
  
He did not answer her, or else Brienne fell asleep. The next thing she knew, a dragon was chasing her in her dreams, and she woke up panting on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Brienne's night terrors.
> 
> One thing I love about limited POV (especially GRRM's) is imagining or trying to infer what the other characters are thinking. I thought about that while writing this chapter, especially the last section. So if anyone wants to take a guess at Jaime's thoughts, hit the comments.


	6. In Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night is dark and full of terrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent the past few days making a couple of edits. Most are minor changes of names. One big change I made, however, is a timeline detail. I had to push back Jaime's sentencing by two years. So, Jaime has been a Grey Warden for four years, not two.
> 
> As always, comments and questions are welcome and loved. Enjoy!

Brienne crashed onto the floor, and Jaime woke from his restless sleep with a jerk.  
  
 _I have no desire to take your maidenhead, Brienne the Beauty, no matter how dark it is in this room_ , he thought staring at the Brienne-shaped lump beside him.  
  
"Let me guess," he said, turning on the lantern, "green fog, red and black scales, lots of screeching?"  
  
She nodded, pulling herself back up to the bed, where she sat with her knees pressed together and arms wrapped around her middle. She was still a hulking giant of a woman, but sitting like that she seemed almost a child.  
  
"A...a dragon tried to speak to me," she said, her voice wavering. "And I ran, but it chased me, and found me and--"  
  
"It felt like it was in you," Jaime finished, leaning his back against the bed, his face level with the tops of Brienne's knees.  
  
"Yes," she whispered. She drew in a shaky breath.  
  
"That would be the archdemon. He leads the darkspawn. When you drank the blood at your initiation, it started to--" poison you, he thought. "Corrupt you, in a way, so that you can sense the darkspawn. And now they can sense you."  
  
"Arch _demon_?" she squeaked. "It's a dragon?"  Jaime almost laughed at hearing that sort of noise come from her.  
  
He tried remembering his dreams--all Grey Wardens had dreams at first. "It looks like a dragon," he allowed. "I don't really know what it is. Mormont said it was probably an old god, some powerful being the darkspawn corruption awakened."  
  
"How can I kill something that flies where I can't reach it?" she whispered, seemingly to herself.  
  
A moment passed; Jaime had no answer for her. Mormont and Jory had ordered him to stay away from the archdemon if he ever saw it on the battlefield. That was probably why the old commander sent Jaime and Brienne into the tower.  
  
Maker knew what they were going to do now, though. Any hopes Jaime had of making it north were fleeting, and he was not likely to be welcomed by anyone without the rest of his brothers around. It was only him and the wen-- _Brienne_. Had Stannis's lies reached farther north? Were they likely to have more militiamen, or worse, _sellswords_ come for their heads?  
  
"Can it find me?" Brienne asked after some time.  
  
"Find you? No. It just thinks you're another darkspawn, so when you dream you can sort of..." he struggled to find the words, " _hear_ it...inside of you."  
  
"When I dream? This will happen every time I sleep?"  
  
"At first, yes. But you'll learn to block it out. Eventually." Maybe, hopefully. Dreams during a Blight were said to plague new Grey Wardens for much longer than times of peace.  
   
"But now you can find the darkspawn," he went on. "You'll learn to sense them and eventually how many." He cast a look to her face, "And me, you'll be able to find me."  
  
She glanced down at him, her blue eyes looking almost hazel in the lantern's light. "How?"  
  
"You just...sort of reach," he said, taking a breath and "reaching" for her with his mind. It felt like someone pressing a fingertip into the back of his skull, a pressure that thrummed and ran from him to her, almost like invisible wires that connected them.  When his Grey brothers were alive, Jaime's head always thrummed.  Combat especially had the tendrils connecting them so that a hundred men could fight as one.  
  
Grief hit him, making Jaime's chest heavy with the loss. Of Jory and Mormont and the others. The desire to run followed it, but he only slumped against the bed, weary.  
  
"Think you can go back to sleep now?" he said.  
  
"I'll try," Brienne replied, and he had to duck when she swung her long legs back onto the bed. He sat in the floor a moment longer before turning down the lamp and crawling beneath his covers.  
  
==  
  
Sleep found Brienne again, and she dreamed no more of godly dragons and darkspawn.  When she woke up, the Kinslayer's back was to her, shirtless, as he washed himself in a basin by the small window.  
  
He had a warrior's body: broad soldiers and well-formed muscles along his back and arms. The visage felt unduly intimate, to see him half unclothed in such a small room. She thought of Renly's smile then, and his gentle hands on her waist as he danced with her on his name day. How long had it been since then? Five years or four? No matter how long it was, she remembered the celebration well.  
  
Before her, the Kinslayer took a blade off the table. In his left hand, he fisted his long, golden hair, and with his right hand, he sliced the blade through it. Silken, golden threads fell to the floor, piling around his bare feet. Next, he wet the blade, placed its edge at the base of his skull, and scraped the metal along his scalp.  
  
"Enjoying the show, wench?"  
  
Startled, Brienne gasped and sat up in the bed.  He smiled at her, his face covered with stubble, an evil glint in his eye.  
  
"No," she said throwing off the covers. Maker take him. She could no sooner relax around him before he was teasing or mocking her again.  
  
The back of her head thrummed, like the start of a headache just before her moon's blood. The sensation never mounted; its pressure remained constant. She tried imagining how it would feel to know darkspawn were near, but now she could only sense the Kinslayer.  
  
"So," he said from the basin, "Do you have any friends in the south? I'm afraid I'm coming up short on that count."  
  
Brienne knew few people in the mainland, and no one she could call a friend.  
  
But there was Renly, serving as a knight in Redcliffe. Should she say that, though? Much as she...admired Renly, she hardly expected he had the means to help them. His lord, Mace Tyrell might, but Brienne couldn't imagine herself asking a lord for favor. She might know some of the fishermen, but only in passing, and like as not they'd sooner laugh at her than help.  
  
"There," the kinslayer said, turning around. He was nearly bald now, only a dusting of hair covered his head. His face was unchanged however, and his eyes were too distinct to change his appearance too much.  
  
Brienne's eyes, of their own volition, traveled down the square muscles of his chest and followed a dusting of gold-blond hair until it trailed into his low-hung breeches. Her cheeks flushed, and she busied herself by getting out of the bed and remaking it. She felt too-large and too conspicuous, as if she had just now realized how small the room was. That had mattered little last night when she was so tired.  
  
"I know a knight," she blurted. "In Redcliffe."  
  
"Mace Tyrell's land?" he said, pulling a shirt over his head. "Tell me more about this knight of yours."  
  
Brienne found her boots at the end of the bed and sat down to pull them on. "He's not my knight. A knight. I met him on Tarth a few years ago.  He was...kind to me."  
  
"Brienne the Beauty," the kinslayer purred, "has a knight."  
  
Brienne clenched her jaw and pulled tight the laces on her boots. "He is _not_ mine."  
  
The kinslayer stared down at her. "No, but you want him to be," he laughed, and what Brienne  _truly_ wanted was to throw him out the window.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Brienne and Jaime prepare to travel to Redcliffe.


	7. The Chanter's Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime prepare to travel to Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention Brienne hasn't been shopping before?

Brienne went into the small village with Jaime's coin pouch. Before leaving the inn, she untied Grey Wind, but he only whined for Jaime.  So Brienne told the wolf to hunt in the nearby woods for breakfast and that Jaime would come for him soon.  
  
When that was done, Brienne found a small trader's shop nestled in between a tavern and a dressmakers.  
  
The trader was an older man with a closely trimmed white beard and no hair upon his head.  "Hello, ser," he greeted her, closing his book of sums and leaning on his counter. "What can I get you today?"  
  
"I need camping supplies," she told, him matter-of-factly.  
  
The man's eyes flickered, doing the double-take Brienne saw whenever someone heard her voice for the first time.  
  
"A long journey...er...miss?"  
  
She nodded. "To Redcliffe. I'll need provisions for two, a tent for two, oil for torches. And dried fruit and meats--whatever you have--and a flagon and cups. And two packs to carry it all in."  Brienne went over the list in her head, and suddenly remembered the Kinslayer bare-chested and barefooted at the inn. "And a change of clothes. Men's clothes. A leather jerkin if you have it, and boots."  
  
He cleared his throat. "And does miss have the coin to pay for all these supplies?"  
  
Brienne dropped Jaime's pouch on the counter, and the man smiled at the sound of money within his grasp.  
  
"Aye she does." He turned to the array of shelves behind them, every nook and cranny filled with random oddments and various states of wear. "And will these clothes be someone your size or--"  
  
Brienne reflected for a moment. "An inch or two shorter than me, otherwise the same."  
  
He nodded humming to himself. "An inch or two won't make much difference."  
  
He wrestled a pile of clothing from one shelf and set it down in front of Brienne. "Pick what you like from those. They should fit you--or your _friend_ near enough. I'll get what else you asked for."  
  
Brienne sifted through the pile of clothing, rejecting a yellowed linen shirt, a pair of breeches stained with some kind of pasty-white muck. She managed to pull out a tan shirt that was relatively well made and clean, as well as a brown leather jerkin and matching leather coat. She chose the best pair of breeches in the pile, and neatly folded all the clothing in front of her. Lastly, she chose two dark green hooded cloaks. They would need those in case it rained. She would not ask the trader about small clothes; telling the size of those would certainly cause her more awkwardness than it was worth.  
  
The man set a tent and poles on the counter. "What's taking you to Redcliffe, miss?"  
  
Brienne opened her mouth to say something about the Grey Wardens, but she remembered the farmers and militiamen along the road. "My business is my own."  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "As you say."  
  
The man finished gathering everything she asked for. "Is this all to your liking, miss?"  
  
Brienne surveyed the pile of goods,and it seemed that everything was in order. "How much?"  
  
The man hummed and fingered the coin pouch. "I think this will be enough."  
  
Shocked, she said, "All of it?"  
  
He nodded, looking at Brienne pitifully. "Afraid so. It's hard times you know, with the darkspawn and the blight.  
  
"I see," she replied, eyes downcast.  "Okay...take it." If they had any hope of making it to Redcliffe, they would need all of these supplies, though Brienne hated to think that she'd given away a last of the Kinslayer's coin.  
  
"You might try the chanter's board," the man said, packing the supplies away.  
  
"Chanter's board?"  
  
"It's run by the church. People post work notices, and anyone can take on the job to earn some coin."  
  
Brienne like that idea. She didn't mind work, and it would feel better to have some coin before they set out.  
  
==  
  
Jamie palmed his bald head, the weird sensation making him frown. His scalp felt cold, though the rest of him was warm, and he stared forlornly at the pile of hair in the floor.  
  
He wondered how long it would take the wench to get their supplies. Jaime didn't like leaving the trading to her, but the less he was seen the better. Not that he was especially at ease sending Brienne with all of his money while he sat trapped in this room.  He sat on the bed and gazed out the window. He'd seen the wench untie the direwolf, and it ran off into the forest, presumably glad to be rid of leashes and humans. Jaime didn't much mind that. The beast was good in a fight, but Jaime dreaded having the overgrown dog following him everywhere. It was bad enough that he had to take care of Brienne.  
  
Or was she taking care of him? He was the one cooped up in the back room of an inn staring disconsolately out the window. It was his face that would bring them trouble. Jaime groaned and slid from the bed and into the floor. He fished a whetstone from his pack and began sharpening the double-edged blade of his sword.  
  
He reflected on what he knew about Redcliffe and Mace Tyrell. It was a small holding on the edge of Lake Calenhad. Its money was mostly in fishing and rope. Tyrell had two teenage offspring, Loras and Margery, a boy of ten or eleven named Joffrey, and a wife whose name he could not remember.  
  
Jaime set his sharpened blade aside and took a polishing cloth to his shield. It was painted with the Warden sigil--a grey griffon outlined in blue--but he was not about to discard this weapon in the hopes of secrecy.  He scrubbed at the metal, thinking on this knight Brienne knew.  The wench thought she was being furtive with her feelings, but when she mentioned the knight, emotions were written all over her face.  
  
Still whatever attachment she had to the man, it was surely one-sided. Probably.  
  
When he finished with his shield, he pondered his clothing options. He had white linen breeches and an undershirt, which he was wearing now. Aside from that, he had Jory's armor.  
  
He sighed. He should have told the wench to get him some clothes, too.

He wondered how much time had passed. It certainly wouldn't take her this long to buy a tent and some food. He stomped over to the window, thinking that staring out of it would make her return.  
  
It didn't, of course, and he wondered if she hadn't made off with all of his money and his direwolf. Maybe she'd only been playing at honor so she could steal from him, using her innocent blue eyes and ugly face to make him trust her, pretending to be some lady playing at knighthood when what she really wanted was to rob him blind.  
  
Maker take her, he was an idiot, through and through. What was he going to do now? He'd take any man in a sword fight, but if everyone in the southlands wanted his head, how would he ever make it north? What was he going to do? Trek through the woods all the way to Highever subsisting solely on nuts and berries? He couldn't hunt; a bow was a craven's weapon and Jaime had never learned it.  
  
That blonde bitch had abandoned him.  
  
Then he realized he still felt her in the pulse at the base of his skull, thrumming away.  And sure enough, a moment later, he heard loud footsteps coming up the stairs and a womanly grunt as something knocked against the door.  
  
"Open the door, Kinslayer," she said, her voice muffled through the wood.  
  
He turned the latch.  "What took so long?" he demanded before she could get fully into the room with two packs slung across her shoulders.  
  
"Earning some money," she said, dropping the packs to the floor and rising to shove stringy hair from her face.  
  
"Where's my coin pouch?" He held out his hand.  
  
She dropped the empty leather bag into his palm, her eyes full of apologies. "The supplies cost you all of it."  
  
" _All_ of it? Were you off buying dresses made of purple silk?"  
  
Affronted, she blinked at him. "I got the tent and the food and the oil, like we decided. And clothes so you don't have to go around wearing underthings." Her cheeks were red, though from anger or embarrassment, he didn't know.  
  
"You let that shopkeep swindle you," he said, clutching the empty pouch in his fist.  
  
"I got some more money," she replied, pulling coins from a pouch around her swordbelt.  
  
"How?" he asked, wary.  
  
"The chanter's board. I chopped some wood and built some traps."  
  
"Well....good then. Still, you were swindled."  
  
"It was my first time...shopping," she admitted. "On Tarth I just...they sent the bills to my father."  
  
Jaime almost felt sorry for her and her downcast eyes.  "Just be more careful next time," he told her.  "I thought you were running off with all my money."  
  
She blinked at him, her lips parted so that her crooked teeth were showing. "Why would I leave you? You have the treaties and plan to make good on your promise, right?" Her blue eyes flashed to his, earnest and sincere.  
  
"Yes," he lied. Mace Tyrell could have these treaties. Or that little knight of hers. How was Jaime supposed to deliver the damned things on his own? With half the world out for his head?  
  
"Good," she said, nodding to the packs. "I'll wait for you by the stables while you dress, Kinslayer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: On the road again.


	8. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime pitches a tent.

  
They walked for the whole day and well into the night. Grey Wind found them on the road, and spent much of the afternoon nudging Jaime's hand as they walked west. They had to retrace their steps from the previous day, and to make up for the lost time, they did not stop to make camp until the moon was high.  
  
Brienne was beginning to chafe beneath her armor from wearing it for so long. She'd have to remove it tonight, clean it, and let her skin breathe again for a time.  
  
They found a soft patch of ground some ways from the road, it was half hidden by rocks and a huge fallen oak. A stream ran behind the rocks, some tiny eddy formed by years of rainwater. Jaime said he would pitch the tent and make the beds, so Brienne built a fire and heated wine over it.  
  
As she worked, Brienne thought of the treaties and how they might deliver them. The mages lived in a tower in the midst of Lake Calenhad. If Lord Tyrell would lend Brienne a boat, she could row to the castle in less than a day.  The dwarves were easy to find, but they were many leagues away in the underground city of Orzammar. To reach them, Brienne must travel northwest, through the mountains and almost to the edges of the country.  Still, finding the elves would be the greatest problem because they were migratory and insular, and famous for hating humans.  
  
When Jaime left for a moment to relieve himself a ways off, Brienne made quick work of removing her armor. Beneath the plate she wore a close-fitting tunic and short-legged pants. By the time he was back, she had changed from those into a thicker light blue tunic and brown breeches that reached to her ankles.  She sighed at how refreshing it was to be in clean clothes and checked the wine.  
  
It was warm, so she poured it into two cups, then she set aside the dried beef and apricots that they'd sup on.  That done, she cleaned her armor using water from the stream, and then she laid the pieces on the rocks to dry.  
  
Brienne had wine rarely enough, but it kept well on the road and was useful for treating wounds besides. She disliked its dry, acrid taste and its smooth texture. She'd rather the blandness of water or the bubbles of cider.  
  
When she and Jaime sat by the fire to eat, she sipped and supped, and soon her belly was full and the rest of her so relaxed that she could think of little more than crawling into bed.  
  
==  
  
Jaime yawned by the fire, his feet stretched out in front of him and his veins warm from the wine. It was not enough to get drunk on--not near enough--but warmth kept the night's chill away.  
  
 _It was only a glimpse_ he told himself, a glimpse in firelight and moonlight, nothing more. She'd not meant for him to see her, that had been clear, and yet he had. Now the visage was burned into his eyes: pale white skin, all of it as freckled as her face, thick waist, thick arms, thick legs, small breasts and wide shoulders. And yet still, she had shallowly curved hips, a fleshy round rump, and his cock had stirred at the sight of it. He never fully hardened, just wavered some moments at half mast beneath his breeches. He turned away from the sight and cursed himself.  
  
He'd been too long from women. Not that there had been other women since Cersei, not bedding them anyway. But he was very much a man in that the sight of a shapely figure could arouse him well enough. And he would find his own release later, remembering.  
  
But Brienne wasn't shapely, and she was barely a woman.  
  
He glanced to the tent, which looked large enough from here, but he'd spent the last half hour inside of it, laying out their bedrolls and blankets, arranging their weapons nearby so they could reach them easily. The cursed thing was too short, so he'd had to make the beds right next to each other in the center of the or else their heads would have been poking through the canvas.  
  
Damnable woman.  
  
"Jaime," she said, swallowing a yawn, "how are we going to keep watch?"  
  
Maker, he'd not thought of that. They were both barely keeping their eyes open now.  "I could set some snares," he sighed. "And there's the wolf, too."  
  
Grey Wind looked up at him, the direwolf's dark eyes hopeful. The beast had followed Jaime to and fro all evening, and had even fetched tent poles for him.  Some of what the witch said had to be true. Grey Wolf seemed to understand most commands Jaime put to it, and now the dog was practically trembling with excitement.  
  
"You want to keep watch?"  
  
Grey Wind sprang to his feet and barked, tail wagging, and he licked Jaime's face.  
  
"Blech," Jamie groaned, wiping at his cheek with his sleeve. "Okay then. That's settled."  
  
"Do you need help with the snares?" Brienne said, standing.  
  
She looked pitifully tired, and in all likelihood her sleep would be as restless as it was the night before.  
  
He waved her off and went to set his traps.  When he finished with those, he stripped out of his jacket and leather jerkin and snuffed out the fire, and even scratched Grey Wind behind the ears before ducking into the tent.  
  
In the tent, Brienne had found her bed well enough and was a shadowy lump breathing shallowly in the darkness. Jaime kneeled on his bedroll, checking his blades and hers. Assured that everything was in place, he settled beneath his covers and fell asleep facing Brienne so that his sword hand was free.  
  
==  
  
This time when Brienne dreamed, she had her sword and armor. She was in some craggy place, rocky and uneven, with sharp spikes and cliffsides all around her, and no good place to climb.  
  
Overhead, the sky was a deep read, like an ocean of lava bubbling upside down. The was lava below her, too, flowing read and orange.  
  
Then the dragon appeared, dark scales with red veins.  
  
"You will not take me," she told the monster.  
  
 _"I already have,"_ it said, speaking from within her and outside of her at once.  
  
==  
  
Dazedly, Jaime saw Brienne writhing on her bed. Half asleep, he placed his hand on her arm, and she stilled, lying on her back. His thumb circled the soft flesh of her arm, a quiet, "shhh," escaping his mouth.  
  
His eyes drifted closed again, his hand still on her, and he hovered somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.  
  
She said, "Why are you touching me, Kinslayer?"  
  
"I thought you might strike me in your sleep," he murmured into his pillow.  
  
"What makes you think I won't strike you while I'm awake?"  
  
He pulled his hand away, rolled onto his back, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Grey Wind gets his first kill.


	9. Good Morning, Darkspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne make a new....friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I tap dance around writing a fight scene and try to move the plot along. This chapter took a while. Please let me know in the comments how it reads. I'm still uncertain of some parts.
> 
> (Dragon Age fans will notice an homage to a beloved elven character.)

Behind Oberyn Martell trailed some five or six darkspawn. With a bow slung across his chest, he slipped through the forest on silent footfalls. But every few yards, he would purposefully break a stick, rustle dried leaves, or knock a dagger against a tree.  The noise made the darkspawn follow him west through the forest, to the Grey Wardens.  
  
Perhaps they were too many, Oberyn reflected, running on the balls of his feet in the morning twilight. But the situation must be dire for his plan to work. Both the Wardens were large enough to fight more than one darkspawn--two at least. He'd decided that when he watched them attempting to leave the village anonymously, but there was no mistaking the Warden sigil on the man's shield.  
  
As he ran, the sun rose, bringing morning with it. He went ahead, quicker now, and found a tree to make his stand.  
  
  
==  
  
Brienne woke up with Jaime still sleeping next to her. Their closeness unsettled her, but obviously the small tent didn't allow for the bedrolls to be arranged any other way.  Her fingertips grazed her arm where Jaime had placed his hand the night before. She still felt the ghost of his touch. She'd spoken sharply in the night, but truthfully, it had calmed her.

 _That_ was even more unsettling than having a small tent.  
  
She climbed out of bed, careful to not disturb him. Outside, dawn was breaking over the treetops, and the heavy, cool air hinted at rain. Upon seeing her, Grey Wind stretched and yawned lazily, but he stood up all the same. She petted his head.  The direwolf was much healthier than it had been a few days ago. Some of its coat was thickening, and its muscles had grown too, if only a little.  
  
Brienne stretched her arms overhead, sighing. _He's the Kinslayer_ , she reminded herself. Yet for all she knew before she'd met him, none of it aligned with the man she'd slept beside. Granted, he was rude and cheeky, but most men were not kind to her.  In the past week they'd formed something of an alliance, looking after each other and fighting together. They fought together especially well, she thought. If rumors of Jaime's dishonor had been exaggerated, rumors about his combat skill were not. She'd never met a man who was her equal in that regard.  
  
Perhaps she could blame it all on the darkspawn connection. She touched the back of her head and _reached_.  The tendril thrummed, but the pressure on her head was tenfold what it had been yesterday. That could only mean one thing.  
  
Darkspawn.  
  
As if picking up on her alarm, Grey Wind growled and bared his teeth to the trees.  Brienne reached into the tent and yanked on Jaime's ankle until his eyes shot open and found hers. She said nothing, and he was already scrambling from under his covers and grabbing his sword and dagger.  
  
Brienne pulled on her boots and took her sword in hand. Jaime was next to her then, sword and shield at the ready.  
  
He said, "If there are archers, I'll get them, you draw the others to you."  
  
Grey Wind sprang forward, growling at the column of darkspwan that appeared between two trees.  
  
"Grey Wind will get the archers," Brienne replied. The wolf sprinted around the darkspawn, as quick as his namesake, and every arrow pointed at him missed its mark.  
  
Six or seven, Brienne thought as the beasts poured into the clearing. She countered the first one when it came for her. It lunged and she dodged, she spun, brought the sword low, and sliced the blade through his middle.  
  
Jaime knocked back another with his shield and Brienne stabbed her sword through its exposed neck.  
  
Two down.  
  
==  
  
 _This is going too well_ , Oberyn realized from his perch in the tree. The two Grey Wardens were like a human barricade, no darkspawn made it past them. The dog, too, was strong and quick.  
  
It was obvious he'd brought too few darkspawn with him. Even so, he notched an arrow and aimed. He inhaled, held his breath, and released his bowstring. The arrow sailed, quick and true, and a darkspawn fell into a heap.  
  
Oberyn loosed another.  
  
 _I have to make it look like I've done something, at least._  
  
==  
  
"They're elven," Jaime said to Brienne as he pulled an arrow from the darkspawn's head.  
  
"Elven?"  She repeated, watching his fingers as he examined the arrow.  
  
He inclined his head toward the tree line. "Someone's in there." He told Grey Wind, "See if you can find them."  
  
"On our side, at least." Brienne brought a hand to the side of her head finding her hair and ear slippery with blood.  
  
"You're bleeding," Jaime gasped, his eyes wide and growing wider as he stood up next to her.  
  
"Yes, it was a crossbow, I think..." She probed her scalp and winced when she found the wound. "I don't think it's too deep. Just grazed."  
  
Jaime's hand tugged her fingers out of the way and he tipped her head to the side. "Maker, Brienne, you should have said something."  
  
She made a little humming sound in her throat, feeling his warm breath arc across her neck. His fingers were gentle, lifting away her hair and wiping at the blood.  
  
"Does it need stitching?" she asked, her eyes sliding to look at him. His green gaze found hers. He blinked at her once, twice.  
  
"Sapphires," he murmured.

She stared up at him, aware of his hands on her head and face, his touch gentle and intimate. She felt the warmth of his body so close to hers, and for a moment forgot to breathe.  
  
"What?" she whispered, trying to remember Renly's smile.  
  
Grey Wind barked, backing into the clearing, baring his fangs. A tan-skinned elf followed, his hands upraised and his palms empty. Brienne grabbed her sword, and Jaime's hands left her just as quickly.  
  
"Ah, Grey Wardens," the elf said with a thick Dornish accent. He carried a longbow and daggers, and smiled at them as he approached. "It's a good thing I showed up to help you with the darkspawn."  
  
"Somehow, I think we would have been fine without you," Jaime said, returning the elf's smile. "What were you doing in that tree?"  
  
"Would you believe that I was admiring the view of you and your...lady."  
  
"I'm not a lady," Brienne insisted. "I'm a Grey Warden."  
  
Jaime shot her a glance, but she shrugged. The elf had already figured that much out.  
  
The elf continued his walk toward them. "But you _are_ a woman. A very large woman, but a woman all the same. With beautiful eyes."  
  
Brienne blushed and Jaime cleared his throat.  "What's your name?"  
  
He bowed, one hand sweeping up and curving. "Oberyn Martell, my lady. I come from Dorne."  
  
Jaime chortled. "What are you doing so far away from Dorne? Not enough courtesans to keep you busy?"  
  
"Ah, so you have heard of our greatest cultural _asset_." The elf inclined his head. "Alas, I am here on other matters. I wish to do you a service."  
  
"A service?" Jaime said.  
  
"Aye. Let me travel with you. I have many skills, as you can see. Archery, daggers. Poisons. I am good at scouting and hiding. And killing. Seems I could be of use to you.  As for you my lady..." he looked past Jaime and winked at her. "I can help you with that cut. Darkspawn's doing, not mine." He placed a hand over his heart.  
  
Jaime sliced his sword in front of her. "The lady doesn't need your help."  
  
"I am fine," Brienne agreed.  "Why would you lend your services to us?"  
  
Oberyn sighed. "It pains me to say that we are headed in the same direction. You will visit the dwarven city, soon, yes?"  
  
Jaime smiled. "You're awfully informed for a sneaky archer."  
  
"Ah, well, I am blessed in that regard. As well as others." This time he winked at Jaime.  
  
"How do you know where we're headed?" Brienne said.  
  
"A darkspawn blight in the wilds, two Grey Wardens heading north...the rest is not so hard to figure out."  
  
Brienne knew better than to trust this Oberyn, but it was obvious the man moved well and shot well. He'd sneaked by her and Jaime both, as well as Grey Wind.  
  
"Are you marrying a dwarven princess?" Jaime said.  
  
Oberyn chuckled. "The dwarves don't have princesses. Only princes and kings. They are... _traditional_ in that regard. No, I do have business there, not urgent but important nonetheless." He looked at Brienne. "What say you my lady? Three is better than two, is it not? You would not object to letting me stroke your fire and keep you warm on cold nights."  
  
"I'm afraid our tent's too small for that," Jaime announced, his smile showing the slightest waver. "You'd have to sleep on the ground. With the dog."  
  
Oberyn shrugged. "As you say, Grey Warden."  
  
Jaime held out his hand. "Give me your arrows. If you need them, I'll return them. Keep your daggers sheathed unless we say otherwise, and don't go near our things. Prove your worth, and you can say."  
  
Oberyn nodded, but his eyes once again found Brienne's. "Oh, I will do that. And more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Redcliffe, maybe?
> 
> Your comments inspire and enlighten. Just a few words or many. It helps so much to know your thoughts.


	10. Rabbit Stew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn can cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Elves in Dragon Age look like this:
> 
>   
> and Qunari look like this:

Despite Brienne's protestations, Jaime insisted on seeing to her wound. They left Oberyn and Grey Wind and ducked into the tent with boiled water and a healing salve.  
  
His closeness didn't bother her so much now that the fight was over and her blood had stilled. She sat crosslegged among their blankets while Jaime kneeled next to her with the wet cloth.  
  
"I can do it," she said, trying to take it from him, but he pulled it away from her grasp.  
  
"Calm yourself, wench. You can't even see the wound, let alone clean it."  
  
He had a point, so she let him wipe the blood from her ear and hair while she gripped fistfuls of the blankets when he grazed over the cut.  
  
"Next time, move your head a little to the left, and I could be cleaning blood off your corpse."  
  
"Next time I'll move _you_ a little to the left," she replied, pleased with her jape.  
  
Jaime smiled and laughed. "Don't be sour, my lady. I only meant you were lucky."  
  
"I don't rely on luck," she said, blushing. "If I'd had my helm..."  
  
"If--if--if," he mocked, his fingers combing her hair out of the way. "Next time stay near the shield, alright?"  
  
"Hm," she said, holding still as he applied the salve to her wound. The jelly was cool and soothing, and once Jaime pulled his hands away, she straightened her hair.  
  
"I'll leave you to change, and get dressed. I'll bring you your armor," he said and left the tent.  
  
==  
  
Jaime surveyed the camp and carried the blood-tinged rag over to the stream to clean it. Grey Wind was nowhere to be seen, most likely off hunting, but Oberyn squatted next to last night's fire, building it up and alighting it anew.  
  
"Rabbit stew for breakfast, ser?" the elf smiled at him.  
  
Jamie grinned, narrowing his eyes. "Do you have a rabbit?"  
  
"Not yet. But soon."  
  
Jaime only nodded and found the rocks where Brienne had set out the pieces of her armor. They were ugly bronze things with cobalt blue trimmings. Not the best quality, but he wasn't sure what Tarth had in the way of blacksmiths. Or money.  
  
He carried the pieces over to the tent and left them sitting outside. He dared not lift the tent flap and hand them to her directly.  
  
He found his swordbelt, jerkin, and jacket, and pulled those on while he studied the elf squatting over the fire. Oberyn had the pointed ears that marked all of his kind, as well as a short, lithe build, and a neatly trimmed beard. Jaime trusted Oberyn very little, but if he'd denied the elf, it was likely Oberyn would have followed them anyway.  
  
"Are you Dalish?" Jaime asked.  
  
"By blood, yes, but I was raised in the Dornish capital." He placed a pot of water over the fire.  "And what of your parentage, ser?"  
  
The elf's smirk told Jaime well enough that Oberyn knew all about him. Still, he said, "The usual. Nameless mother, highborn father. I'm a bastard, in blood and reputation, most would say."  
  
That made the elf chuckle. "And yet you are a knight. Curious."  
  
"Yes, isn't it?" Jaime smiled.  
  
The history of the Grey Wardens was rife with controversy and tales, most of them exaggerated. But one thing was true throughout, where darkspawn were concerned, the Wardens were second to none. Because of that small fact, the Grey Wardens retained a lot of prestige everywhere they went, regardless of whom filled their ranks.  
  
Besides, the initiation ritual guaranteed that only the strongest fighters survived, so no man who wasn't worth his mettle ever fully joined the order.  
  
Still, that strength did not protect them from Stannis Baratheon's politicking no more than Brienne's hair had protected her from that crossbow.  
  
As if bidden by his thoughts, she emerged from the tent, her flaxen hair bedraggled and matted on one side. She stomped through camp like she was some half-breed qunari, but aside from her size, there was nothing foreign about her, and Jaime knew all too well she was fully woman beneath all the bronze plate.  
  
"Oberyn's making us stew," Jamie announced.  
  
Brienne nodded, but flickered her gaze to him.  
  
"Not to worry," he replied, "I'll keep an eye on him so he won't poison us."  
  
She gave him one of her non-smiles by stretching her lips into a straight line.  
  
Grey Wind came bounding out of the woods, two animals dangling from its mouth. The wolf dropped the carcasses in front of Jaime and wagged its tail.  
  
"Ah, there's our rabbit," Oberyn chimed. When Jaime looked at him, the elf shrugged. "I told your wolf you'd appreciate a good meal.  Shall I get started?"  
  
Jaime dismissed Grey Wind, and the wolf trotted over to the fire. Jaime watched as Oberyn used an ironbark dagger to skin and cut the meat before dropping it into a pan.  
  
He caught Jaime's gaze and winked before calling to Brienne. "My Lady, come see these herbs, won't you?"  
  
Brienne looked down at the elf. "Why?"  
  
Oberyn held up stems of varying lengths and shades of green as if they were a bouquet of flowers. "All safe, I assure you."  
  
Brienne leaned forward, and Jaime was relieved to see that she held her right hand at the small of her back, next the hilt of her dagger.  
  
 _She'll get swindled by a dozen shopkeepers, but no man can touch her_. Except Jaime had touched her, in the darkness, in the tent. _And I could have lost a hand for it_ , he thought, smiling.  
  
Even from where he sat, Jaime could make out a few of the herbs, some rosemary and parsley, but others were not so familiar.  With her left hand, Brienne took the collection from Oberyn, and held their edges against a rock. Her dagger whooshed from its scabbard and landed with a ping.  
  
"Eat them," she said, indicating the half-inch lengths she'd cut.  
  
"As you command, my lady."  And the elf ate.    
  
After that, they let Oberyn cook his stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short update. I needed something to bridge the last chapter with their arrival at Redcliffe. It would have been too abrupt to not include something, and yet I didn't want to linger very long before moving on.
> 
> Thanks for your patience.


	11. Redcliffe: The Undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes finally make it to Redcliffe, but something is amiss in the fishing village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much trouble with this chapter. I hope it reads alright and that it's not confusing or boring for anyone. I feel like my style is suffering a bit too, but working on it more has not improved matters much. Apologies.
> 
>    
> [pics of Redcliffe](http://minerva-melismo.tumblr.com/post/85893087148/dragon-age-reference-pics-mostly-redcliffe)

When they arrived at Redcliffe, the fishing village felt decidedly eerie. Wooden houses, clustered on the lakeside and stacked on top of one another,  creaked in the breeze, but no one walked among them. The smithy next to a small waterfall showed no signs of work, and all the shops were closed.  
  
Oberyn spotted smoke coming from the chantry's chimneys, so that's where they went.  Brienne pushed on the wide door, and it opened with a loud groan. By the time the three of them and Grey Wind made it over the threshold, all eyes were upon them.  
  
The chantry looked more like a healer's tent after a battle. Bedrolls lined the walls, small groups of adults and children alike filled other empty spaces. Neat the altar, a chanter recited the Chant of Light to some twenty onlookers, while a priestess handed out bread and cheese.  
  
"I'm guessing this is _not_ the brothel, then?" Oberyn said, drawing a chuckle from Jaime.  
  
Brienne felt a slight blush on her cheeks, but willed herself to not think on it.    
  
A girl of maybe six years appeared at Jaime's knee, tugging on his jacket, and just behind her was a young man, barely old enough to hold a sword.  
  
"Have you come to save us, ser?" the girl asked Jaime.  
  
Before he could answer, the young man pulled her behind him. "Go, Madeline."  He glanced from Jaime to Brienne, and then to Oberyn. "Who are you? We-we-we don't have any gold and just a little food. We don't want any trouble."  
  
"We mean no trouble," Brienne said, eager to put the boys fears to rest, but wondering why it seemed the whole village was--by the looks of it--living in the chantry.    
  
"Boy! Didn't I tell you to watch the doors?" A man in armor made his way through the crowd. This one was older than Brienne, but younger than Jaime, with hair just past his ears and short, full beard.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, Ser Hyle," the boy sputtered, "but it's not dark yet, so there was no need to worry--"  
  
Ser Hyle stopped the boy's words with a shake of his head. "Go find your sister. Keep her close."  Then the boy was gone.  
  
"We mean no trouble, Ser Hyle," Brienne said at once. "We were hoping to speak with Ser Renly."  
  
Ser Hyle did not hide his surprise upon hearing her voice, but instead of sneering at her, he smiled. "My lady, you must be Brienne of Tarth."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Yes, Renly spoke of you. A woman who wears men's armor and has eyes the color of summer seas."  
  
She blushed profusely now, and unable to bear Ser Hyle's seemingly kind smile, she stared at her feet. "Ser Renly spoke of me?" she said.  
  
Hyle nodded. "Yes, my lady. I must admit, you are even more...intriguing in person."  
  
"Brienne," Jaime said beside her, "won't you introduce us?"  
  
She reddened further seeing Jaime's knowing smile teasing her. When she didn't reply, he said, "I'm Brienne's commander, Jaime Lannister. Perhaps you've heard of me?"  
  
"The Kinsl--I mean, Ser Jaime?" Hyle replied. He looked to Brienne. "Then you are Grey Wardens? We heard all the Grey Wardens died at Ostagar. And this elf, is he a Warden too?"  
  
"Just a comrade in arms," Oberyn said, smiling. Brienne pitied Ser Hyle for the way Jaime and Oberyn grinned at the knight. There was no clear way to know what either of them were thinking. Jaime especially, would smile and say vicious things, or frown and make a quip.  
  
Hyle ran a hand through his hair. "I am afraid I can't offer you quarters. I mean, I would--Lord Tyrell has no love for Lord Stannis or his lies--but you will not be safe here, if you stayed."  
  
"What is the danger?" Brienne said. "The girl asked if we were here to help. Can we be of service?"  
  
Ser Hyle gestured for them to follow him, and once he turned away, Jaime glared at her.  
  
"They're mostly women and children," she whispered. "We must help if we can."  
  
" _You_ can help," he said, "but don't bind _us_ to your oaths."  
  
"Oh, I don't mind," Oberyn shrugged, and Brienne smiled at him in thanks.  
  
Jaime said no more, but he followed Ser Hyle all the same.  
  
Ser Hyle led them to a room in the back of the chantry, where the air was cool and the torches dim. But none of the villagers were near. The room was little more than a priest's office, with a desk and a chair, bookshelves and a small unused fireplace.  
  
"We've not heard from the castle in a week," Ser Hyle said, once they were all inside and the door closed. "Every night we are attacked by--well the best way I can say it is corpses. The come down from the castle, killing everyone in sight. They are relentless until the sun rises, and then they return to the castle only to start the cycle again at sunset."  
  
"Undead?" Brienne said.  
  
Ser Hyle nodded. "Like walking bones, with sword and shield, some with bow and arrows. It is not something I've ever before seen in my life.  I am the last one left," he went on, "the other knights are in the castle or dead. Or maybe both."  
  
"How can we help?" Brienne asked, assuming that Jaime rolled his eyes at her, but he surprised her by nodding attentively.  
  
"Fire," Jaime said. "That will keep them from coming back."  
  
Brienne turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.  
  
"You need to destroy the corpses to keep them from rising again."  
  
"We could do that," Ser Hyle said. "The trader keeps barrels of oil grease, and we could use barricades to funnel the things into the flame."  
  
Jaime nodded. "Get them as they come down the hill. Post archers on the roofs of the houses."  
  
"You will help us then?" Ser Hyle said, relieved.  
  
"Yes," Jaime replied. "We will."  
  
==  
  
Ser Hyle's plan worked well. The barricades funneled the corpses into the grease fire,  Jaime and Brienne led a few other swordsmen to take out those who escaped the flames. Oberyn commanded a small band of commoners with bows, and even before the night was over, all the creatures had been dealt with.  
  
Those who had helped with the siege were clustered at the lake's edge. Bonfires littered the area, as well as some cookfires  where the women grilled fish and the children acted as little servants bearing food and ale to anyone who'd picked up a bow or sword before. Many of the fighters were still talking excitedly about the flaming undead, and a few took a moment to thank Jaime as he strolled by them, Grey Wind at his heels.  
  
He found Brienne kneeling at the water's edge, her helm beside her as she splashed cool water on her face.  
  
He could feel fatigue creeping upon him as he sat next to her. He would sleep the whole night through and well into the morning, he suspected.  
  
"So have you found out where Ser Renly's been hiding?" he asked.  
  
Brienne sat back on her heels, wiping hair from her face. "The castle. Ser Hyle says."  
  
"I'm surprised he didn't make his way down here to help us. He must be _some_ knight for you to hold him in such high esteem."  
  
She glanced at him, but there was not enough light for him to see her expression.  
  
"Ser Renly is betrothed to Lady Margery. I'm sure he meant to keep her and her family safe."  
  
"Betrothed? So he _isn't_ your Renly after all."  
  
Her head snapped, and there was no mistaking the way she glared at him. "I never said that he was. You were the--"  
  
"Yes, yes, I was the one. Go on with your tirade." He waved his hand at her.  
  
"Kinslayer, I will--"  
  
"There's my wench," he chuckled. "I think it's been a few days since you've called me that." Jaime smiled at her, waiting to see what she'd do next. Throttle him, most like.  
  
However, a sudden shout came from behind him, and Jaime sprang to his feet, shoving others out of his way as he made for the noise.  
  
"More! From the castle!"  
  
Jaime sensed Brienne behind him, heard her blade slide from its sheath. Grey Wind ran ahead, barking.  
  
Jaime could only see silhouettes of three figures, whether they were corpses or people, he could not tell.  Brienne tugged on his jacket.  "It's Renly," she whispered.  
  
The three figures came around the dying grease fire, arm and arm, and...giggling.  
  
Ser Hyle appeared from nowhere, running towards them. "Loras! Margery! Renly"  
  
"Ser Hyle," the girl said. "Is everyone alright?"  
  
Jaime was near enough to them now, and was plain to see that Loras and Margery were siblings, they both had the same wavy brown hair, similar builds , and golden eyes that Jaime could even make out in the firelight.  The other man with them had to be Renly with shoulder-length black hair and a handsome face.  
  
"Yes," Ser Hyle replied. "Thanks to the Grey Wardens!"  
  
They were all clustered together now, Jaime, Brienne, Ser Hyle, and the three from the castle, forming a small circle in front of the chantry.  
  
"Do you have news of the castle?" Ser Hyle asked.  
  
Margery slipped from her brother's side. "We do, but first, introduce us."  
  
Hyle made all the requisite speeches, and Margery greeted Jaime and Brienne with a shy smile and gentle voice.  
  
Once that was done, she said, "Father and Joffrey are quite ill. The healer says it is nothing more than a seasonal sickness that will run its course, but...no one should visit the castle now."  
  
Loras nodded in agreement. "The healer said that since we didn't take ill, that we weren't contagious. And Margery was so worried about the villagers and the attacks..."  
  
Jaime didn't hear anymore after that because he sensed only half truths from the siblings. Mace Tyrell's village suffers nightly attacks, and no one comes down from the castle? Then when the corpses are all gone, these three deign to visit the commoners?  
  
He interrupted Hyle's next barrage of questions by making his excuses and dragging Brienne away with him.  They found Oberyn alone on the chantry steps where the elf was cleaning salvageable arrows.  
  
"Something's not right." Jaime slouched on the steps and stifled a yawn. "I'm too exhausted to figure it out. But..."  
  
Oberyn cocked his head. "What gave it away? Walking dead or the sudden visitation?"  
  
Brienne leaned on a pillar next to the steps, making of show of chewing on her bottom lip. "They escaped something, maybe?"  Looking like a ten-year-old child and a seasoned warrior all at once.  
  
"But why wouldn't they say as much?" Jaime replied with a shake of his head.  "Do you think we can find a place to rest before the sun comes up? It doesn't seem like any of this will die down soon." He couldn't blame the villagers, they had been cooped up in a chantry for a week.  
  
"I'll see to it." Oberyn said.

==  
  
Ser Hyle gave them quarters in the same office they'd visited before. Much to Brienne's frustration, he insisted on carrying her pack as he led them down the corridor.  
  
"I don't know how we can thank you for aiding us, my lady," he said, holding open the door for her. Within, Oberyn, Jaime, and Grey Wind were already settling in for the night.  
  
"A boat," Brienne replied, directing Hyle to put her pack by the desk.  "We need to deliver a treaty to the Circle Tower. And if Lord Tyrell could give us knights to accompany us on our journey--"  
  
Ser Hyle chuckled, making Brienne stop short. "Now, I don't know about all of _that_. Perhaps there is something that is in my power to give you?  For instance, I stay in a small apartment upstairs. We could...share, if you like."  
  
Brienne felt herself redden at the thought, and could not mistake the hopeful smile Ser Hyle gave her.  
  
"I-I-I am still a maid, Ser Hyle," she stammered, "it w-w-would not be appropriate."  
  
He made a dismissive wave with his hand and leaned on the edge of the desk. "It's not as scandalous as all that, my lady. We've all been sleeping next to each other since this whole crisis began--"  
  
"The crisis is over," she told him.  
  
"But--"  Ser Hyle stumbled, nearly falling over as the desk was suddenly pulled out from under him.  Brienne looked up to find Jaime dragging the large wooden thing into a corner.  
  
He flashed them a smile that made Brienne's stomach flip and her face grimace.  
  
"Oh, sorry!" he said, with a positively unapologetic tone. "I needed to make some more room on the floor.  
  
Clearing his throat, Ser Hyle straightened his shirt front, and bowed his head. "Ah, yes, I see. I don't think you'll need my _help_ after all." And with that, he left the room.  
  
Jaime left the desk askew in the far corner, clearly not having needed to move it in the first place.  
  
"I didn't need your help," Brienne said.  
  
He shrugged. "What help?"  
  
"With Ser Hyle"  
  
"Oh, I thought you meant with your bedroll. Too late for that I'm afraid. I've got us set up in the corner over there."  
  
Brienne looked to see their beds arranged just like they would have been in the tent: bedrolls next to each other with daggers and swords nearby.  
  
" Shouldn't I sleep over here?" She gestured to the opposite wall.  
  
"And let your dreams wake up Oberyn before I can calm you down?"  
  
She flashed her eyes angrily at him, though he spoke the truth. Rarely the night had passed that Jaime's hands or words hadn't quieted her nightmares.  
  
"Or perhaps you'd like to let Ser Hyle help you instead?"  
  
She made fists with her hands and bit her bottom lip. "No."  
  
"Well don't be such a stubborn wench, and I won't have cause to tease you."  
  
"I think you'll always have a reason to tease me, Kinlsayer. It's in your nature." _And mine._ Jaime seemed to have an endless list of things to tease her on, and none of them about her appearance save for when he mocked her for pouting. If she spoke too little he called her a mute. If she disagreed with him, he taunted her until she gave in. Even if she _agreed_ with him, he feigned surprise until she hit him or walked away.  
  
"Yes, I believe you're right," he said with a grin.  
  
Wordless, she huffed past him and got ready for bed.  
  
Hours later, she didn't know how many, she woke to find his hand stroking her arm and his voice saying, "It's alright Brienne. You're safe."  And for the first time, she didn't pull away from him. Instead, she fell back asleep with his hand holding hers.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaime tries to find out what Renly and the Tyrells are up to.


	12. The Knight Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime leaves Brienne and sets sail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, a [map of Ferelden](http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110319021314/dragonage/images/3/31/Ferelden.png).
> 
> If you're not familiar with Dragon Age some necessary info: Templars are knights that guard and control mages, and the Circle Tower is where mages live (or more accurately, where they're imprisoned).

  
The next morning, Jaime woke well after the others, and Brienne had already bathed and changed along with some of the chantry sisters.  He was anxious to interrogate Renly and the Tyrell siblings, but he doubted it would lead to much. They and Ser Hyle had even spent the morning well into their cups on the chantry's wine, and had not even spoken to him.  
  
Even so, Jaime would need resources from Lord Tyrell. Armor for one, knights and protection if the lord could spare them. Political protection, too.  Jaime mulled all of this over while he changed into a set of clean clothes and packed away his things.  By the time he finished rolling up his bedroll and stowing it in a corner, Brienne had returned.

He sat in a well worn desk chair, while Brienne squatted on a stool so short, her knees practically touched her ears by the time she got comfortable.  
  
Once they recounted what they knew of the walking corpses and of the castle, Jaime decided it best to be honest about his suspicions.  
  
"There's some foul magic at work here, Brienne. I know that you want to trust Renly, but you cannot. You _should_ not."   
  
She chewed on her lower lip, and for the first time the habit annoyed him.  
  
"You can't tell me any of this makes sense to you," he continued. "What about the servants in the castle? The other knights? These are the only three who aren't ill?"  
  
Her jaw set, she stared at the floor between her knees. "Ser Renly is a kind, honorable man. He wouldn't lie about something like mages and corpses."  
  
"Then where did the corpses come from?"  
  
"You do not know for certain that Ser Renly is behind this, or Lady Margery, or Ser Loras. It could be many other things. An illegal mage no one has found yet. Some darkspawn trickery, or--"  
  
"You are loyal beyond the point of sense," he groaned, running fingers through his hair. "Believe what you want." He scooted his chair from the desk and stood.  
  
"What do you plan to do?"  
  
"I'm going to borrow a boat from one of the fishers and row to the Circle Tower. Once the templars hear about this, they will intervene."  
  
"And what if you're wrong?"  
  
"The all we've done is ruined a templar's day. And you can gloat about it. If I'm right, then _I'll_ gloat about it."  
  
She chewed on her lip again, and twisting her hands together, she said. "I'll come with you."  
  
Jaime shook his head. He would not have her see those horrors, no matter how infuriating she was.  "No."  
  
"I can row better than you, Kinslayer. I picked up an oar before I ever touched a sword."  
  
"No!" He could feel his blood boiling, and the desire to knock some sense into her was only equal to his desire to embrace her. "I am more adept at these things, Brienne. You're shy, naive, young," he must remember that, especially, "and the templars know me."  
  
Frowning at the floor she nodded her head. "Don't forget ugly and freakish."  
  
"What? No!" He realized that he _had_ thought those things, but such a time seemed long ago. He pulled her off the stool, and clamped his hand on her shoulder. "I need you here, too. Keep the villagers safe. Become friends with Loras and Margery so that when Lord Tyrell is well, he will help us.  Can you do that?"  
  
She met his gaze for the briefest of seconds.  "You don't trust me. You say I'm too naive to talk to templars, but you want me to parley with the Tyrells.  You think--"  
  
"I _think_ that Ser Hyle will listen to anything you have to say and that Ser Renly respects you a great deal. I _think_ that Lady Margery will befriend you because you saved her precious villagers." _I think that taking you to the Circle Tower where they murder children for strange dreams would ruin you._  
  
"I will not lie to them."  
  
"I know that. I'm counting on it. On you." Just like he had since they left the red witch in the woods and again when they destroyed the militia. He was coming to count on her a lot.   
  
She nodded. Finally.  
  
"Good, then." He removed his hand, ignoring the ludicrous pang of emptiness he felt when he stopped touching her.  "I should return by sunset, if not sooner."   
  
"Goodbye, Kinslayer." She wiped damp tendrils of freshly-washed hair from her forehead and stared at the door.  
  
He left without another word.  
  
==

  
Oberyn insisted on traveling with Jaime, and _that_ Jaime didn't mind since the elf could help with the rowing and knew how to keep quiet. In more ways than one.  The wind was favoring them, so they raised the sail  and rested on opposite ends of the boat, Grey Wind gnawing happily on a bone between them.  
  
The sun was high in the sky, a little past midday but warm and bright. It would likely be one of the last springlike days Jaime would see. The further north they traveled, the colder it would become, and by the time they reached Highever, they could expect snow and wind aplenty.  Jaime hadn't thought of Highever for some time until now, and he wondered what they would make of him, bald and bearded, toting around an overgrown wench and a foreign elf.  
  
He leaned back in the boat and closed his eyes, enjoying the hot rays of the sun and letting Oberyn keep the boat on its path.  Jaime could set sail like this for all his days. Take port from Highever and travel to Dorne or Orlais or some kingdom he'd not even heard of. Make his living as a sellsword or ingratiate himself with the right royal family and become a knight without a tainted history.  
  
But the more he thought on it, those ideas seemed elusive. Even now he was sidetracked by this village with its eerie secrets and charging Brienne to help him solve the mystery. Wasn't Jaime supposed to be after coin and refuge, not honor and glory?  
  
"I am surprised you left the Maid of Tarth behind, Ser Jaime," Oberyn said, breaking Jaime away from his thoughts.  
  
 _I have grown too used to the wench and her oaths_ , he thought.  He waved a hand to the sky and kept his eyes closed.   
  
"We might return to find her engaged or married, leaving the poor thing in the company of three single men."  
  
"Renly's engaged," Jaime answered lazily. "That Loras no more has eyes for women than I have for cat piss.  Brienne can handle herself."  
  
"I heard from the villagers that Ser Hyle is very much in the market for a wife. Lady Brienne is the heir to Tarth, is she not? The beautiful isle of sapphires?"  
  
Jaime shrugged, willing his eyes to open a bit to gaze at the elf before promptly closing them again.  Brienne could be the heir to all the goldmines in Thedas and she'd not marry anyone unless she willed it.  
  
"I imagine Lord Tarth would expect heirs one day. Grandchildren. Lady Brienne could do worse than this Ser Hyle."  
  
That made Jaime sit up and stare at the smiling elf. "And much _better_ than some knight no one's heard of and one who tries to take her to bed as soon as he meets her.  That reminds me, Oberyn, what is it you have to do in the dwarven city? Save maidens from hapless paramours?"  Jaime grinned.  
  
The elf's returning smile was no more genuine than his own. "Save maidens? No. Few grown women are maidens in Dorne. We do not shame women for having desires; we do not cage them as you do here."  
  
"I keep no caged women," Jaime chuckled.  
  
"Forgive me." Oberyn sighed. "I cannot tell you what I seek in the dwarven city because...my mission is so foolhardy that not even my own king agreed to it. I am ashamed to say."  
  
Jaime nodded, but became annoyed at the half truths the elf gave him. Half truths were becoming as plentiful as darkspawn.  
  
"Have I given you some reason to doubt me, Ser Jaime?"  
  
"Other than showing up out of nowhere? Nope, that's about it."  
  
"And have I not lent my bow to your cause, helped you with darkspawn and corpses alike, volunteered to steer this boat while you sleep away the afternoon?"  
  
"If you're angling for payment, I have none."  
  
"Protection is all I want. A man would be more foolish than me to travel alone. You have my bow and my blade until we reach the dwarven city."  
  
"Strange for you to seek protection from two Grey Wardens who keep finding themselves in the midst of monsters and darkspawn."  
  
The elf shrugged. "Not so strange when you consider that the two Grey Wardens--one of whom hasn't donned armor for a week--keep finding themselves in battle but barely suffer any wounds.  No one is free from danger, but there are those who weather it better than others."  
  
The elf had him there, though for a moment Jaime thought of Brienne's brush with the crossbow and how that could have ended much differently.  But by then they were circling behind the Tower, a huge stone monument in the lake.  The dark thing was ominous enough in the daylight, and Jaime hoped they'd be well on their way before nightfall.  
  
They moored the boat on the small deck leading up to the tower. Strangely, no templar guarded the area, so they had little choice but to climb the dark stone steps of the castle.  
  
They were stopped at the entrance by two young Templars, Jaime supposed they were maybe seven and ten, neither fit to grow a beard, though one was trying.  
  
"I have business with Knight Commander Barristan," Jaime told them.  
  
The two exchanged looks before the one with the caterpillar-like mustache spoke. "The Knight Commander can't see anyone right now. He is--" the boy looked to his comrade for  help, but the other shrugged. "Busy."  
  
Jaime remembered the parchment in the pocket of his jacket, the damned bundle that Brienne insisted he bring along.  
  
"I'm here on Grey Warden business, and I _command_ you to let me by."  
  
The boys exchanged a look, clearly having not even half a mind between them.  
  
"Do you think when Barristan learns you've turned away a Grey Warden--the Grey Warden Commander--" he half forgot that himself, "that he will reward you for your duty?"  
  
The boys shook their heads, and the silent one finally stepped aside.  
  
Then, Jaime, Oberyn, and Grey Wind found themselves in utter chaos. Injured Templars slumped against pillars in the torchlit foyer. Sacks and barrels were crowded in doorways, a trader whispered to himself in the corner, and Knight Commander Barristan frowned at them, his potchmarked, aged face furious.  
  
"Who let you in?" he demanded, shoving three haggard-looking templars from his path. "The Circle is off limits.  Who are you?"  
  
Jaime smiled. "Just a yellow-bellied, soft-hearted, shit for honor Grey Warden, ser."  
  
The old man blinked in surprise.  "Kinslayer?"  
  
"The one and only."  
  
"Thank the Maker," Barristan exhaled, "We need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: We catch up with Brienne and Ser Hyle. Maybe find out what's going on in the castle.


	13. The Truth About the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renly asks Brienne for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: in this story, Joffrey is the younger brother to Margery and Loras.

Uneasily Brienne checked her reflection in a tiny looking glass on the desk. She combed fingers through her hair, though it did little to change her appearance.  How was she to ingratiate herself with the Tyrells like this? She wished for a tourney, a melee, a bout with Ser Hyle or swordplay with Loras. She wished for something that did not make her feel as though she walked a tightrope stretched over a gaping chasm.  
  
Wearing armor to lunch would be ludicrous, yet Brienne felt more at home in heavy plate than her own skin. Now she could only untuck and re-tuck her tunic, loosen then tighten the drawstring on her breeches, clean her bloodstained boots in the dirty basin water, and hope for the best.  
  
When she found the four of them in the chantry's solar, a servant girl led Brienne to only empty chair at the small round table, between Ser Hyle and Lady Margery.  
  
Ser Hyle inclined his head to her. "Did you sleep well, my lady?"  
  
Brienne nodded, sipping on a cup of water before her. She told herself not to blush, although it had little effect.  
  
Beside her, Lady Margery placed her hand atop Brienne's on the table. "Ser Hyle and Ser Renly have told us of your skill with the sword, Lady Brienne. We are indescribably grateful that you helped us."  
  
Brienne's eyes glanced to Renly, and he was smiling at her.  "The way Ser Hyle talks, you would be a good match for Ser Loras."  
  
Loras, who had done little more than scowl at her, grunted at Renly. "I won't fight a lady."  
  
 _I'm no lady_ , Brienne wanted to say, but she held her tongue, and tried to smile. Jaime's smiles came so easily to him, but Brienne could not lie with words any more than she could lie with her eyes. She was ugly and shy, but strong as well. Would that she were rowing across the lake rather than sitting here.  
  
"Lady Brienne," Renly said, his voice so kind and polite that she almost truly smiled at him. "How did you ever convince your father to let you away from Tarth?"  
  
 _I pestered him until he grew annoyed at the sight of me_ , she thought, but in truth her father only ever protested out of love.  "The Grey Wardens were asking for skilled warriors, and I begged Father to let me join. And he agreed, so long as I return home once a year and agree to rule Tarth we he...dies."  She ignored the regret forming in her chest, and reminded herself she was better as a Grey Warden than she had ever been as a daughter.  
  
"Can Grey Wardens hold lands?" Loras said, draining wine from his cup. "They don't even have a stronghold in this kingdom."  
  
Brienne furrowed her brow. "Our oaths do not mention that as such." Their oaths were strong words but not exactly specific. "I had thought that once the blight was ended and the darkspawn go back underground, the Grey Wardens have little need of me."  
  
"Do you mean that Jaime Lannister will have little need of you?" Ser Hyle asked. "You and he are the only Grey Wardens alive, if the rumors are true."  
  
That gave her pause. She could not imagine herself spending all her days alongside Jaime Lannister no more than she could imagine herself a queen. "I...well the Grey Wardens from Orlais will undoubtedly return once Stannis allows it. Ferelden needs Grey Wardens."  Brienne almost impressed herself with the deft change of topic from her to Stannis. Jaime would have liked that.  
  
Margery shook her head. "Stannis has forbidden all Grey Wardens from entering the kingdom, and since he's serving as the queen's regent, no one is likely to contradict him."  
  
"But what of the darkspawn?" Brienne blurted.  
  
"He claims we do not need them," Renly said. "He says that armies alone can crush the horde."  
  
"The Grey Wardens are greater than any army," Brienne heard herself saying. "They are unmatched in battle and in strength." _We can sense the darkspawn_.  
  
Loras frowned. "All the Grey Wardens amount to now is a murderous bastard prince and a lady who thinks she's a knight."  
  
"I am a knight," Brienne said, and she looked up to find Renly nodding at her.  
  
"Lady Brienne has the rights of it Loras.  Your father will agree, I'm sure."  
  
Brienne's cheeks reddened with his words, and swiftly following it was the realization that all of Jaime's predictions were coming true right before her eyes.  She did not want to think of Jaime when Renly was smiling at her. As Brienne well knew, Renly was engaged, but the truth of the matter was that Brienne cared about him, even if he would never care for her in the same way. He was a good man and worthy of respect, and she wished him every happiness.  
  
They chatted for a bit longer, and when most of the wine and cheese were gone, Margery asked Brienne to take a walk with her and Renly. Surprised, but determined, Brienne agreed and soon found herself arm in arm with Margery, while Renly led them on an lazy stroll along the lake's shore.    
  
"Brienne," Margery said, "I am so grateful that you and Ser Jaime helped our village. I feel like I've known you for ages, although we just met, and I consider us good friends."    
  
Brienne nodded and tried to smile. Few enough people had ever considered her a friend and fewer still were ever grateful for her help rather than perplexed by her proclivity for swordfighting.  
  
"You do me a great honor, my lady," Brienne said.    
  
"Though it pains me, Lady Brienne," Margery began, "Renly and I must ask something else of you."  
  
"Whatever I can do to help, my lady, " Brienne replied.  
  
Renly stopped walking, and Brienne saw that they were a ways from the village, and no one was nearby. Tall trees along the nearby hillside blocked a view of the village, and this section of the lake was free from any wandering boats or swimmers.  
  
"Brienne," Renly said, his voice almost a whisper, "Margery's brother is most...unwell. We were not entirely forthcoming about his ailment last night, but Margery and I both feel that we can trust you."

Brienne knew very well what Renly had left unsaid: they could not trust Jaime. She nodded before Renly continued.

"Joffrey is young, but he--"  
  
"He is a mage," Margery blurted. "We've known it since he was five, but Father was did not to part with him since Mother died."    
  
Brienne could not hide her shock, and she pulled away from Margery. "That is a grave crime, my lady. To hide a mage...it is dangerous _and_ illegal."    
  
Margery nodded, her face twisted with sadness. "I know that it was the wrong decision, and I may live to regret it all my days. Loras disagreed with us, but neither Father nor I would heed his warning."  
  
"Brienne," Renly broke in, "we need you to help us subdue the child. He has lost control of his magic, and we fear he may even be possessed. He keeps his father hostage, and we only managed to escape when you destroyed the boy's corpses and he was so enraged that our departure was beyond his notice."    
  
Brienne swallowed against a lump in her throat. It was all as Jaime had suspected, and now a boy was threatening the lives of Mace Tyrell and a castle full of servants.  
  
"What can I do?" she said.    
  
"Tonight, I need you and Ser Hyle to wait in the windmill, atop the hill. Beneath it is a secret passage that leads to the castle. Loras, Margery, and I will return for dinner. When we are safely inside, I will signal you by lighting a fire in the east wing, then you and Hyle must enter the castle walls using the passage.  At that point, Joffrey will seal off all the entrances, so you will be trapped inside, but unseen.  When it grows late enough, the boy will fall asleep, at which point, you will give him this potion."  
  
Renly held her a vial. "This will keep him unconscious for a time, so that you and I can deliver him to the Tower without Lord Tyrell intervening or the boy doing us anymore harm."    
  
Brienne clutched the vial. "Whey can't you give it to him?"  
  
Renly and Margery exchanged a meaningful look before he answered. "They boy will not let us out of his sight once we return. He...keeps us locked in our bedchambers at night."  
  
"Why?" Brienne breathed.  "He does not mean you harm, surely."  
  
Margery shook her head, staring at the ground. "Something has made him wicked. He conjures monsters to keep us locked away. Sometimes he will force a servant or a cook to fight a corpse or a beast. He will force us to watch until the poor servant is slain."  
  
Brienne furrowed her brow. "He cannot be all that strong, for a boy of ten."  
  
"It is the demon in him!" Margery exclaimed, her voice a desperate whisper. "We should have taken him years ago." She let out a sob, and Renly stiffly stroked her back to comfort her.  
  
"I want to help," Brienne told them, "but we should wait until Jaime returns. He's bringing templars and--"  
  
"No." Renly protested. "We cannot wait, and I don't want any templars knowing. They will put Lord Tyrell and Loras on trial, and..." he looked up to Brienne, his large brown eyes wide and pleading.  
  
Unable to deny him this, Brienne nodded and whispered her acquiescence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for more to happen in this chapter, but the word count was getting too long. 
> 
> Next time: Jaime and Barristan strike a deal.


	14. Lost in Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Ser Barristan strike a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I try to include the necessary info in the chapter, those unfamiliar with Dragon Age may find [this explanation](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Fade) of the Fade helpful.

When Jaime was six and ten, he became an apprenticed templar. Jaime had never been religious, but by then he was already a prodigy with the sword and joining the order would have given him a chance to improve his skills.  
  
As he expected, Jaime fared well in physical training, but when it came to the more spiritual and mental rigors of templar lessons, he often failed. Despite this, Ser Barristan forced Jaime to take part in a young mage's Harrowing--the test which determines if a mage is strong enough to resist the temptations of the Fade.  Every Harrowing begins with senior mages summoning a portal to the Fade, and the young mage in question is transported to the dreamlike realm and put through a series of tasks.  
  
The Harrowing Jaime presided over concerned a girl of four and ten. Jaime waited alongside other seasoned templars and Ser Barristan.  The time came when Barristan decided the girl was taking too long to return to her mortal body, so he feared that the girl would instead come back possessed as an abomination.  When he decided it was safest to kill the girl, Barristan put the order to Jaime, who refused. Jaime had not taken his vows yet and he found the entire ritual barbaric.  
  
But Jaime's protests fell on deaf ears, and Barristan killed the girl himself.  The next day, Jaime was banished from the order, and word spread about how he was too weak to ever serve as a templar.  
  
Jaime reflected on this as he smiled at the Knight Commander, the same man who had called Jaime a coward and who was now asking for his help.  
  
"It's Warden Commmander, actually," Jaime said, taking another look at the ailing Templars spread throughout the room.  
  
"Commander?" Ser Barristan did not attempt to hide his shock.  
  
"Well, everyone else is dead, so it wasn't much of a contest."  Jaime let Ser Barristan chew on that information before continuing. "Why would you need my help?"  
  
Ser Barristan sighed. "You are the most infuriating and willful charge I've ever had the misfortune to meet."  
  
"And this is supposed to bring me to your cause?"  
  
 "The Circle has turned. I've lost most of my men, and right now we have all the mages barricaded in the upper floors."  
  
"Yes, still waiting for you to get to my part in all of this."  
  
 "I need you to send word to Denerim and  bring back the Right of Annnulment."  
  
Whatever calm Jaime was clinging to quickly vanished. "You want permission to kill all of the mages in the Tower? No. I will not do that for you. Besides, the whole kingdom's out for my head anyway."  
  
Barristan's eyes widened.  
  
"Oh, I guess you haven't heard that Lord Stannis has declared that all Grey Wardens are traitors."  
  
"No, I hadn't."  
  
"Why would I help you anyway?" Jaime threw his hands in the air. "You couldn't wait to be rid of me fifteen years ago, and suddenly you think I'm the one to help you?"  
  
"What choice do I have?" Barristan sighed.  
  
Jaime shrugged.  "Not my problem."  In truth, Jaime feared what lengths Barristan would go to in order to restore the Circle. Clearly he was not above killing every mage within, but the man was also hesitant to do that without permission from the church.  
  
"You could try where others have failed,  Commander," Barristan murmured.  "You're willful and skilled with that sword of yours."  
  
"Why should I risk my neck for you?" Jaime demanded, though he felt pity for the mages within, the children especially. It was not worth risking his neck over.  Moreover, Brienne was waiting for him to bring her help. He should not waste his time here.  
  
"I could absolve you of your dishonorable discharge," Barristan said, his voice low. "I would say that you chose to leave the templars to serve Lord Ned. And I would expunge any record of your ...misconduct."  
  
By misconduct, Barristan meant Jaime's refusal to kill a fourteen-year-old child. Jaime knew the man would never admit he had been wrong, would never admit that Jaime had been the only man in that room with a shred of honor.  
  
"Yes, Jaime retorted, his anger threatening to show. "Let me risk my life so that your prestigious templar records sing my praises."  
  
Barristan worked his mouth for a moment, clearly searching for the right words.  "An army," he said at last. I will give you an army. For the darkspawn or for Stannis, whatever you need."  
  
"Are you so desperate as all that? You would give me Templars to fight the darkspawn?"  
  
"Not you, but the Wardens.  We are bound to anyway, are we not?  I give you my word that we will come to your aid when you call us. If you will help me in this one small matter."  
  
"Small? Just what has happened in that tower that has injured and killed most of your men? Why could I fare better alone than anyone else?"  
  
Barristan leveled his gaze on Jaime. "You are not alone. You have your companion." He gestured to Oberyn who was leaning lazily against a pillar.  "You're a Grey Warden and even before taking those vows you were unmatched in combat. In all my years of training templars, you were the only man to ever refuse me.  That took...courage."  
  
"Not the right sort of courage, apparently."  Jaime scoffed at him.  "I came here to get help for Mace Tyrell, but from the looks of it, I'd be better off on my own. What has the world come to when the Knight Commander and the Circle Tower has no more control over mages than the rest of the kingdom?"  
  
"The same world that has left me begging for your aid, Ser Jaime."  
  
The man was tired, that much was clear. Jaime wasted no time pitying the man, but Jaime considered the souls that were trapped in the floors above his head.  
  
"I'll help you, Barristan," Jaime spat. "But if you break your word, yours is the first corpse I feed to the darkspawn."  
  
The old man nodded. "Thank you, ser."  
  
  
==

  
The foyer had been but a glimpse of the destruction Jaime and Oberyn found on the Tower's upper floors.  Bodies littered every room, like they'd all been killed in an instant. It was the work of a demon or blood magic, which meant at least one mage had gone into the Fade alone but returned with company.  
  
As they went up the steps to the third floor, Jaime was reminded of climbing the Tower of Ishal with Brienne. He wished she were with him now; he'd never felt so at ease in battle as he had when they fought side by side.  
  
Down the long corridor, Jaime saw a mist, though he couldn't see its source. A moment later, blue fog billowed toward them, large clouds rolling into every crevasse. Jaime had no time to even think of fleeing before the moist air was upon him. It was heavy and thick, heady with a scent that unusual but not unpleasant.  But it was a heavy, ominous cloud, and Jaime felt trapped instantly.  
  
Grey Wind was the first to fall, drooping onto his stomach like a wilting flower. Then Oberyn lost his grip on his bow and sank to his knees before collapsing face down on the stone floor. Jaime felt the fatigue next, the overwhelming desire to sleep, to close his eyes and float through the cloud around him. His knees hit the hard floor, his eyelids grew heavy, and he saw no more.  
  
==  
  
When he awoke, he was in the courtyard of some ancient, magnificent castle. Grey and blue banners hung from every tower and parapet. Squires, knights, pages, and servants milled around everywhere.  In his hand, Jaime gripped a sword of the finest metal, silverite with lightning runes and a shield to match. He sparred with another man, someone who was not nearly his equal, yet Jaime enjoyed the bout despite himself.  
  
"Watch your flank. Keep your shield raised.  Yes, that's it," Jaime told the man.  
  
"Yes, Commander," came his reply, and Jaime circled him, smiling with encouragement.  
  
The thunder of a horse's hooves could be heard in the distance, and Jaime released his fighting stance to jog toward the noise. He waited, not fearful but hopeful, as if he knew this was a welcomed arrival, like he had been biding his time until this moment.  
  
Horse and rider crested over a hill, through the raised gate. The rider was resplendent and strong in the finest armor, Grey Warden griffons etched into the breastplate and a beautiful grey cloak flapping in the wind.  
  
Jaime put away his weapons and ran to greet this warrior, and they embraced before Jaime could even see who it was.  When he pulled away, the sight was enough to shock him, but he only grinned from ear to ear.  
  
"Wench," he said.  
  
"Kinslayer," she replied. Her eyes seemed to hold all the beauty in the world, and the smile she gave him warmed Jaime's heart through, like he was drinking his fill of the sweetest honey imaginable.  
  
Jaime backed away and drew his sword. All the warmth vanished only to be replaced by cold realization.  
  
"This is not real."  
  
The fake Brienne grinned, crooked teeth suddenly straightening and sharpening themselves to fine points. Blue eyes turned black, pale freckled skin sloughed away to reveal a grotesquerie of bones and corpse gall.  
  
"Didn't like what you saw, Kinslayer?" the demon seethed.  
  
"I liked it too well," Jaime said, shield raised and heart racing. "That's what gave it away."  
  
What came next was the flurry of his sword slashing against the demon's bones. It was not skill that won in the Fade but will. All souls visited the fade in their dreams, and the chantry believed that it was where souls returned when they died.  
  
But Jaime was neither dead nor sleeping, and he would not let that vision, no matter how comforting, become his prison. Jaime's will was in his sword hand; it always had been, so he gripped the silverite sword and fought back the best way he knew how, and charged the demon that tried to claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jaime finds Oberyn's dream. Brienne and Hyle infiltrate the castle.


	15. The Bear and the Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the top of a tower to the bowels of a dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has been so long in coming. Lots of personal intrusions into my writing schedule as well as a significant amount of planning slowed me down for a while.
> 
> Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things.

Brienne paced outside the windmill, the vial tucked inside her armor. The sun was dipping behind the hills to the west, and still there was no sign of Renly's fire. She could feel Ser Hyle's eyes following her as he leaned against a nearby tree. The whole time they waited, Hyle had remained polite and courteous, showing no signs of his lechery from the night before.    
  
"We better be on our way, my lady," he said. "It will be too late otherwise."   
  
 Brienne shook her head. "Ser Renly said to wait."   
  
Hyle dropped a blade of grass he'd been tearing apart and stood up. "Who knows what happened to him? Maybe he couldn't get away. Maybe he forgot."   
  
"He would not forget."   
  
Ser Hyle left his tree and circled around her. "My apologies, Lady Brienne. But I gave Renly and Margery my word. We must press on before it gets too late. If nothing else, we need to subdue Joffrey and get him to the Circle. A smoke signal, or the lack of one, does not change that."   
  
Brienne bit the inside of her lip, glancing from Hyle to the castle. Some of what he said was true--getting Joffrey out of the castle was more important than anything else. Finally, she nodded at Ser Hyle, and they made their way into the windmilll.  
  
==  
  
Jaime escaped his dream only to find himself in a new landscape. Before him appeared a trail surrounded by large leafy plants with air that was warm and sticky. In the distance he heard children laughing and splashing in water. He still wore the armor and sword he had in his last dream, though if he'd wanted, he could conjure up some other clothing. In this humidity, the thought was tempting, but Jaime knew that none of it was real, just like nothing before had been real. He followed the trail, surmising he'd find the children at the end of it, and he prepared himself to fight whatever demon lurked within.   
  
When he drew near the pond, Jaime saw four elven children playing in the water. All of them had brown skin and black hair. Near the pond sat two women and a man, and Jaime knew at once that the man was Oberyn. Only now the elf wore nothing but breeches, and the women wore flowing airy dresses with fabric so thin, Jaime could make out their dark skin and curves beneath them.  The woman to Oberyn's left had a baby suckling at her breast, and the woman on his right was heavy with child. Jaime stood, watching for a moment. Who could these woman be? His wives? Did Dornish princes keep so many concubines at once? Perhaps this was simply Obryen's fantasy, as unknown and unbidden as Jaime's own dream had been.   
  
As he stood watching, black mists appeared by the lakeside. They sent Oberyn scrambling to his feet, and the mists took the form of dwarven warriors, all of them heavily muscled and armored, with long beards and ugly faces. Jaime gave little thought before he drew his sword and shoved his way through the leafy plants.   
  
"We're here for the princess," one of the dwarves grunted. Quick as a flash, he ripped the suckling babe away from its mother and slit the child's throat.    
  
"No!" Oberyn shouted, suddenly dressing himself in leather armor and gripping daggers in his hands. Oberyn went to the woman, but as he did so, the pregnant woman became a dwarven warrior, too. And suddenly the dwarves were slaughtering children.  Jaime charged at them, giving no heed to Oberyn or the princess.   
  
"It's not real!" he shouted as his sword and shield clashed. "Fight them and it will end."   
   
"Sister!" Oberyn cried, and Jaime heard the whistling of arrows in the air, though Oberyn's sobs were full of anguish. Moments later, the dwarven warriors vanished into black mist, just as they had come. 

Then, Jaime and Oberyn found themselves back in the Circle Tower, as if they had never left. Only now, a demon stood between them and two mages who were chained to the floor.   
  
Jaime was dressed in his leather jerkin and jacket again, and gone was his fine sword and shield. He was nearly out of breath, and his limbs ached, all of it making him realize this was no longer a dream.   
  
"You are the one who's taken over the Circle?" he said to the demon.   
  
The demon held up its palm to Jaime. "Be silent, Grey Warden."   
  
Jaime only smiled. "I'm no mage. Your tricks won't work on me."   
  
==  
  
The dungeons beneath the windmill were cold and dank, but surprisingly lit with magic torches that gave off a bluish light. Nothing seemed amiss, in fact the tunnel was empty aside from random piles of forgotten furniture now gathering dust and cobwebs.  
  
Even so, Brienne couldn't shake the unease she felt. Keeping her sword drawn, she indicated for Ser Hyle to take the lead. He knew the castle better than she did, and she felt better keeping him in her line of sight.  
  
By the time they made the third turn down a hallway identical to the others, a door Brienne hadn't noticed slammed shut behind them. She reasoned that it must have been Joffrey's magic at work, so she urged Hyle further along. She was anxious to see Renly or even Margery, although such hopes were unfounded. To carry out this plan, they would have to wait until the boy went to sleep. That meant to be on the safe side, she and Hyle would be stuck hiding in the dungeons for a long while.  
  
Still, moving along the corridors eased some of her nervousness, if only a little bit.  
  
It was a moment later when she heard the growling, something guttural and unworldly, making her hair stand on end.  Ser Hyle heard it too, and he scrambled backwards, nearly knocking Brienne to the floor in the process.  
  
"More corpses, my lady," he exclaimed, finally withdrawing his sword. "I can hear them."  
  
Brienne glared at him. "Why are you backing away, ser? Our way is only forward."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but finally he nodded and cautiously stepped toward the noise.  
  
Brienne followed him closely, and soon they were upon the stumbling corpses, their moans making Brienne's heart thunder in her chest.  
  
Fighting next to Ser Hyle was worlds away from having Jaime at her side. He was slower and less precise, and Brienne had to watch his flank as well as her own. Still, together they plowed their way through the bodies, sinking their blades into the creatures' pallid flesh. Somewhere along the way, they each grabbed torches from the wall, and as the corpses fell, they set them aflame. The dank stone itself never caught fire, and once the bodies were burned to ashes, the blue flames guttered out.  
  
They reached a stairway sometime later, Brienne's ears straining in the eerie blue light for sounds of another attack.  _We should have waited for Jaime_ , she thought, not for the first or last time that night.  
  
Climbing the stairs, Brienne heard another guttural moan, but it was only one voice as opposed to many, and it seemed to be more human than the others.  When they reached the landing, Brienne stopped Ser Hyle with a tug on his elbow.  
  
"What is that?" she whispered.  
  
"I don't know, my lady," he replied. His skin was pale in the torchlight.  
  
"Are you unwell, Ser Hyle?"  
  
He swallowed and shook his head slowly. "It is only the smell. I'm sorry."  
  
 _You should try smelling darkspawn_ , she thought, but she only nodded.  
  
The strange voice became louder, so Brienne pushed forward, taking point from Ser Hyle. If it was only one creature, she could make quick work of it on her own.  
  
She saw its shadow, elongated and misshapen by the torchlight, but she reasoned it must only be another corpse. Maybe one that hadn't decayed as much as the others. Although that thought made it no easier to stomach.  
  
Finally, the corpse rounded the corner. Unlike the others, it was dressed in finery, an array of colorful threads ranging from blue to yellow to red. Brienne saw all of this before she noticed the creature's face. Where there should have been blue eyes, there were only empty holes in its skull. Where there should have been silken black hair, there were only brittle strands of white. And where his smile should have been there were only grey lips and melting flesh.  
  
"No!" Brienne screamed at it, though it had no effect. The corpse ambled toward her, a greatsword swinging forward, its blade intent on slicing through her.  
  
Tears streamed down her face, making her sight blurry for half a second, and she imagined him smiling up at her with kind and gentle eyes.  
  
"Oh Maker," Ser Hyle murmured behind her.  
  
Brienne gasped, feeling as sick as Hyle had looked seconds before. Gripping her longsword, she raised her hand above her head. Sobbing, she swung her blade in a smooth arc. Renly's head--or what remained of it--fell onto the floor, and Brienne set it on fire.  
  
Then, a golden light appeared ahead of her, and quick, light footsteps echoed through the corridor. Brienne sank to her knees, dropping her sword and clinging to the corpse before her.  
  
"Have you, too, come to take Margery from me?" a child's voice said.  Brienne looked up to find a blond-haired child, no more than ten, scowling down at her.  
  
"J-j-joffrey?" she stammered.  
  
The boy sneered, and Ser Hyle tried to wrench her away from Renly's body. She yanked her arm out of his grasp.  
  
"You are a woman?" the boy exclaimed. "Why are you dressed in men's armor?  
  
"She's only here to help, my lord," Ser Hyle explained, his voice calm and even.  
  
"I'll punish that wench for helping!" Joffrey screeched. "Just like I punished Renly! Only this time, I'll make it a real fight!"  
  
==  
  
The two old mages that the demon had held prisoner were the only survivors of the attack. This didn't surprise Jaime, especially since the man, Cressen, was the First Enchanter, and the woman, Donella, his second in command.  
  
When Jaime escorted them back to Ser Barristan, it took some time before Barristan believed their innocence. In the end, Jaime not only had the templars' allegiance but the two mages' as well. By the time Jaime, Oberyn, and Grey Wind left the tower, it was well after nightfall, making Jaime wonder how long they had been trapped in their dreams.  
  
On the docks, they found their boat where they'd left it, with the young templars still keeping watch. The sky was cloudy and the air still, both of which would make for a grueling journey back to Redcliffe. As they neared the boat however, Jaime saw a form huddled beneath a red cloak.  
  
"Good evening, Warden," the witch said, rising from her perch on the boat. Her pale skin was almost translucent, it seemed, and her red hair glimmered, though there was no light to reflect upon it.  
  
Grey Wind growled until Jaime held up his hand to calm the wolf, but even so, Jaime's right hand gripped the hilt of his sword.  
  
"What do you want?" he demanded.  
  
"I am only here to serve," she said, head bowed, "as we all must do. Your friend is in danger, and we must get to her swiftly."  
  
"Friend?" Jaime blinked at her in the darkness, wishing for moonlight or torchlight so he could read her face.  
  
"Yes," she hummed. "Can't you feel her? You must know."  
  
Almost instinctively, Jaime found himself _reaching_ for Brienne with his mind, although reason told him she was too far away. However, he felt a spark of something at the base of his skull, and with it came a sense of foreboding he could not decipher.  
  
"Commander Jaime," Oberyn whispered, "Do you know this woman?"  
  
He nodded. "I do."  
  
Suddenly, a breeze whipped around them, traveling from north to south. Melisandre was in the boat, her hands making shadowy gestures.  
  
"Raise the sails Grey Warden. Brienne awaits your rescue."  
  
Jaime's unease heightened, and he wondered what magic the witch was playing at. But he also felt connective thrum in his mind pulling him north, back to Redcliffe, back to Brienne.  
  
"Keep your daggers close," he whispered to Oberyn before climbing onto the boat.  
  
He raised the sail, and the witch's wind carried them north.  
  
==

They were less than a league away from the southern coast by the time the thrumming in Jaime's skull reached its peak. Dread and fear both coiled within, and he knew that the wench had done something without him.  
  
 _I shouldn't have left her_ he told himself as he moored the boat, giving little thought to anyone else. The thrumming told him she wasn't in the village at all, so he scaled the hill to the castle, following the pull of his connection with Brienne, his heart beating faster with each step.  
  
When he found the castle gates sealed, he was ready to scale the walls before Melisandre used her magic to raise them. He gave little thought to the witch's motives at that point, so worried was he about what he might find within the castle walls.  
  
The air was thick with magic, a force greater than Jaime had ever known, stronger and more menacing than even the tumult he'd left at the Circle Tower.  He followed the tendril, through the postern gate, across the moat, up the stairs, across the threshold. He ran through corridor after corridor, following that thrumming that brought Brienne ever nearer, until he found the family quarters, staggering to a stop when he saw them.  
  
They were like an audience watching a mummery, each of them seated and looking over a balcony at something below.  There was a boy, laughing and sneering as he clapped his hands, sitting amidst them all in a high-backed chair like some king lauding fools. The others all wore the same expression, stark horror and helplessness. He searched the faces: Lord Tyrell, Loras, and Margery. Ser Hyle sat beside the boy wearing nothing but breeches and a roughspun shirt.  Absent, Jaime realized at once, were Renly and Brienne.   
  
His stomach clenched.  
  
He heard Brienne grunt, unmistakable and somehow as familiar to him as his own voice, and he dragged his eyes away from the audience to the spectacle, and found his wench below the balcony.  She gripped a tiny dagger in her hand and dressed in nothing but a too-small dress  that was nearly torn to shreds. The bear roared.  
  
The thing was monstrous, no normal animal but some great hulking thing scarcely smaller than an ogre.   
  
Without another thought, Jaime braced his hand on the railing, about to jump down, but suddenly, Ser Hyle was trying to pull him away.  
  
"Don't," Hyle said.  
  
By then the boy's eyes strained on Jaime. "You plan to ruin my entertainment? Let the wench fight. She dresses like a man and looks like a beast. It should be no trouble." The boy smiled like something truly wicked, and Jaime had to swallow against a lump in his throat.  
  
 _A mage_ , Jaime realized, _they were hiding a mage_. "Her name is Brienne, and you give her nothing but a dagger and a dress?"  
  
The boy shrugged. "To make it a fair fight."  
  
Brienne grunted again, and Jaime didn't hesitate before launching himself over the railing. He landed, sword and shield drawn.  The bear reared, and Jaime sprinted to her, knocking her out of the beast's way and stopping the monster's paw with his shield.  
  
"Jaime," she breathed behind him.  
  
"Stay behind me," he ordered, sparing her a glance. Blood soaked the front of the gown, where the dress was ripped from her shoulder to her breast. The bear cornered them, crowding them into a tapestry, and Brienne put her hand on Jaime's left hip, nudging him away from the wall and back into the middle of the foyer.  The bear growled again, and Jaime braced himself, shield raised and sword poised.  
  
The bear lurched backward, stumbling and rearing with an arrow stuck in its head. Another arrow flew and another, so many until the thing was writhing on the stone floor, and finally it disappeared, evaporating as if it had never existed.  Jaime and Brienne looked up, and Oberyn was looking back at them, another arrow notched. But the boy was making for the elf and growling--an unnatural guttural moan--and he leaped over the others, pouncing like a feral bobcat.  
  
"Oberyn!" Brienne shouted.  
  
The boy, his hands sparking with purple light, was almost on Oberyn, and no one moved to stop him. Oberyn's bow and arrow clattered to the floor. He ducked, and in the same moment a dagger flew over the elf's head, and lodged itself in the boy's shoulder.  The child crumpled to the floor, moaning.  
  
"He is only a boy..." Brienne said, breathless.  
  
Jaime's eyes flickered to her empty hands, and then caught her gaze. Her eyes were frightened and childlike, seeming to ask him _What have I done?_  
  
He had no answers for her, but he smoothed his hand down her arm and found her fingers, squeezing them gently. "You saved Oberyn's life."  
  
"And you saved me..."  
  
Jaime remembered the others. Loras with his hooded eyes, Margery with her head tucked into her father's breast, and Ser Hyle trying to stop him.  
  
"You would have done the same for me," he said, not doubting it for a moment. He shrugged, tugging her with him to a stairwell he'd just noticed. "But then they'd have to change the song. 'The Bear and the Bastard Fair' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."  
  
They were in dim torchlight in the narrow stairwell, dark stone walls and a low ceiling over them.  
  
"Jaime," she said, her voice quiet and her too-large lips pouty and petulant.  
  
"Come," he told her. "I want to have a word with Ser Hyle. And where's that Renly of yours?"  
  
With a sharp intake of breath she pulled away from him. "I killed him. He came for me and Ser Hyle...the boy had turned Renly into a-a _dead thing,_ and I cut off his head."  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Brienne," Jamie said. His hand dropped her fingers squeeze her shoulder, bringing her closer to him.   
  
"Do you hear me?" he demanded, searching for her eyes. "Brienne. _Brienne_."  
  
Finally, her eyes--gorgeous pools of startling blue, as beautiful as they were in his dream--met his, and for a moment he was stricken silent.  
  
"I don't expect you to understand," she murmured.  
  
Of course he understood. He knew what it was to kill to protect those you love. Did she love Hyle then? Hadn't she just met him? Was she still thinking of Renly?  
  
Instead of saying as much, Jaime dropped his weapons to the floor and removed his leather coat. He whipped the coat around her shoulders, pulling it snugly around her.  His fingertips wiped hair away from her brow, and he was near enough to hear her gasp under his touch.  
  
"I understand, Brienne. I do."  He searched her face again, feeling marked relief when she looked back at him, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. She blinked and they fell, so he wiped them away with his thumbs, until he was cradling her face in his calloused palms.  
  
Her eyes fluttered closed, "Jaime," she whispered, "I--"  
  
She sank against the wall.Then,  Jaime remembered the bleeding gashes from the bear's claws, silently chastising himself for forgetting her wounds. He slung her good arm around his shoulders and wrapped his hand around her waist.  
  
Oberyn appeared in the stairwell, nearly so quiet that Jaime would never have heard him if not for the echoes on the stone.  
  
"Is she alright?" the elf said.  
  
"She's lost a lot of blood," Jaime said. She was heavy, but not lifeless, and together they climbed the stairs until Jaime deposited her in the nearest chair and stood between her and the onlooking Tyrells.   
  
Ser Hyle deigned to rise from his seat, face pale with horror, and eyes wide.  
  
"Is she dead?"  
  
Jaime nearly throttled him. In fact he wanted to beat them all into bloody pulps, but that wouldn't do him or Brienne any good. Not now.  
  
Margery was already pressing cloth into the boy's shoulder, hiccuping through her sobs, and Ser Loras made to rise before Oberyn flitted across the landing and shoved him into his seat again.  Lord Tyrell was sweating profusely, already soaking the embroidered handkerchief he was swiping over his face.  
  
"Find Melisandre. Now," Jaime told Grey Wind.   
  
"Jaime," Brienne said behind him, her voice so weak that his heart stopped for half a beat. "Did I kill him?"  
  
"No," he told her, glancing behind him. She held a vial of some liquid out to him, her hand trembling.  
  
"For the boy. To put him to sleep. It may slow the bleeding."  
  
Jaime took the vial from her. He couldn't care two whits for the boy's life, but if Joffrey retained even a bit of his magic despite the wound, the child would be dangerous. It was best to subdue him. Jaime tossed the vial to Oberyn who poured it down the child's throat.   
  



	16. A Bitter Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken Jaime confesses to Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on names: Revising some of the names so that they resemble ASOIAF characters rather than a combination of ASOIAF/Dragon Age names. Nothing confusing here. Ned is Ned Stark. Bolton is Roose Bolton, etc.
> 
> Reminder: Cersei is a Stark in this story. (sorry)
> 
> Is this fluff? It may be fluff. I can't decide.

Jaime's jacket smelled like him, like the forest and leather, like swords and whetstones...if those had any scent at all. With her left hand, Brienne clutched the collar against her neck, her eyes watching Joffrey's breathing slow, watching Margery's hands press into the boy's shoulder.  
  
Brienne wished she could cry again, like she had in the dark dungeon, but no tears came. She was only empty and weak, the pain in her shoulder a steady pulse that she barely felt, her grief an agony so unrelenting that only now she was numb.  
  
"I didn't kill him," she whispered, and Jaime glanced at her.  
  
"He'll live," he said.  
  
But she hadn't meant Joffrey, she meant Renly. Even now she could feel Loras's glare upon her. It was Loras who was outraged when she told them about the corpse, it was Loras who wanted revenge for something she didn't do.  But Joffrey had made her fight the bear instead, and none of them had come to her aid.  
  
Melisandre floated into the room like a herded butterfly, Grey Wind barking at her heels. Questions formed in Brienne's mind--Where had the witch come from? Where were the templars?-- but she had not the will nor energy to ask them.   She was relieved when the witch squatted next to Joffrey instead of her. Brienne could not have the boy's death on her conscience. It was his father's irresponsibility to blame, not the child's.  
  
Jaime took a chair next to her, moving it so he was angled between her and the others, blocking her view of anything but his piercing green eyes studying her.  
  
"Why?" she said. "Why did you risk yourself for my sake?"  
  
He gave her a half smile with his lips pressed together and his eyes hooded.  
  
He tugged at the collar of his jacket. "Can I see?"  
  
She nodded, loosening her grip on the leather.  
  
"I dreamed of you," he said, using a cloth from his pockets to dab at her wounds. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"  
  
"Only my shoulder."

His long fingers were gentle upon her, and while he wiped with one hand he held the jacket in place so that the tattered dress was never exposed.  
  
"You thought you could fight a bear in this?" The cloth was soaked now, and he dropped it to the floor before readjusting the jacket around her shoulders.  
  
She opened her mouth to answer him, to tell him of the boy's threats and punishments, but Jaime frowned at her.  
  
"I shouldn't have left."  
  
He shouldn't have, but Brienne only blinked at him, not sure if she wanted to say as much or let him draw his own conclusions.  
  
"Ser Jaime." Mace Tyrell cleared his throat, standing nearby.  
  
Jaime was up from his chair in an instant putting himself between Brienne and the lord.  
  
"You have my apologies, my lady," Tyrell said, nodding at her. He looked at Jaime. "As do you, Ser Jaime.  I can only hope we can look past this incident that has endangered us all."  
  
Jaime made a fist with his hand, but before he could move, Brienne grabbed Jaime's wrist and squeezed until his fingers unfurled.  
  
Lord Tyrell didn't notice, or else pretended not to, and he bowed his head at them. "Of course, you are welcome to rooms and food in the castle. I'll see that Loras and Hyle escort the boy safely to the tower. Something I should have done long ago."  
  
"Yes, you should have," Jaime said. Even though Brienne couldn't see his face, she could well imagine the half smile he gave the lord.  "As for taking the boy to the tower...Oberyn will accompany your son and Ser Hyle."  
  
Tyrell's face paled. "That is not necessary, ser. Loras will see to it."  
  
Jaime shifted his weight, cocking his head. "Oberyn will go or I will go. Either way, one of us will ensure that _mage_ is locked in the tower before the night is over."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Good."  
  
==  
  
Melisandre healed Joffrey enough so that he was stable enough to travel. Ser Hyle and Oberyn put the boy on a stretcher, and began their overnight trip to the Circle Tower.  When Melisandre turned her attention to Brienne, Jaime and Lord Tyrell left them alone.  Since Brienne's wounds reached low on her chest, it would have been improper for them to have stayed.  
  
Melisandre said little as she cleaned and dressed the lacerations the bear had made, and Brienne was thankful for that. Jaime had told her to leave all her questions for the morning, and she trusted him enough to do so.  
  
When Melisandre finished her work, she told Brienne to refrain from using her right arm. Then a servant came to escort Brienne to her room.  It was on the opposite wing of the castle, far from the family's quarters. For that she was grateful. She wished she could avoid seeing Loras for the rest of her stay.

After she had bathed and changed clothes, she found sleep elusive, despite the late hour. After lying on her bed for some time, Brienne threw off the covers and found her swordbelt.  
  
With her left hand, she took out her sword, and made a few practiced slices through the air. The balance felt wrong--unnatural even. She adjusted her grip and tried again. Surely they would be on the road soon, and Brienne was not about to find herself unable to swing a sword with at least some degree of accuracy.  
  
She didn't know how long she had been practicing when she heard her door latch open. She spun around, sword upheld to see Jaime swaggering into her room.  
  
"I'm out of wine," he said. His gaze swept over her. "What in the world are you doing?"  
  
"Practicing," she ground out, finally lowering the sword to her side. "I don't want to be a burden when we leave."  
  
He chuckled, coming fully into the room and locking the door behind him. "You can't sleep."  
  
She considered lying, but nodded instead.  
  
He smiled, victorious. "Me neither. Not drunk enough."  
  
"Why are you--" she began.  
  
"I came to steal your wine." His eyes left hers and found the small table sitting next to the fire. Upon it was a flagon Brienne had heretofore ignored.  
  
"Don't worry," he said, fishing a glass bottle from his pocket. "I brought a trade." He ambled over to the table and seated himself before taking a cup from his other pocket.  
  
She should tell him to leave. It was improper for him to be in her room, in nothing but his undershirt and breeches, and in the middle of the night no less.  But he had saved her. Despite everything she knew about Jaime, Brienne felt safe when he was near.  
  
She returned her sword to its scabbard and sat opposite him at the table.  
  
He smiled at her in a manner that left her feeling disarmed, his green eyes seeming to sparkle in amusement.  She picked up the bottle of water as he poured liberally from the flagon of wine into his cup.  
  
"Cheers." He clinked his cup against her bottle and quaffed down the wine, and Brienne sipped the tangy lemon water, her eyes hooded and watchful.  
  
"Some wine would help with that glower you're giving me," he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting in front of him.  
  
"I-I'm not glowering."  
  
"It'll help with that ache in your belly, too," he carried on as if he hadn't heard her.  "The guilt."  
  
 _I deserve to feel guilty_ , she told herself. She and Hyle had waited too long. Renly might still be alive if she'd acted sooner.  
  
"Stop that." Jaime waved his hand in the air between them.  "It's over. You did everything right. More than right."  He poured more wine.  
  
"Then why do I feel so empty?" she murmured, staring into the half full bottle in her hands. The water refracted the shape of the table and Jaime's face so that he looked blurry and half-formed. Why was she searching for answers from him? He had no honor to speak of.

Or so she thought. But he'd been the only one to come after her. He'd been the one to deliver the treaty to the Circle. And even before all _that_ , aside from calling her _wench_ Jaime had been nothing but honorable since they'd left the woods.  
  
The thought made her uneasy.  
  
"Tastes like a bitter pill, doesn't it?" Jaime guessed.  
  
She glanced at him furrowing her brow.  
  
"You do this, you do that. Give up one thing to sacrifice the other." He tilted his head from side to side. "Kill one so ten can live."  
  
"If it is the honorable thing--"  
  
He slammed his empty cup on the table, and she jumped.  
  
"Who's to say what's honorable, Brienne? Was it honorable to ask _you_ to face a rogue mage no one else dared to touch? Was it honorable to protect a child who killed so many?" He paused, reaching for the flagon. "Was it honorable to sit idly by while you were mauled by a bear?"  
  
Brienne sipped on her water, sincerely wishing he'd brought another cup for wine. She almost felt like drinking it. " _You_ were honorable," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?"  His yes met hers, absent of any mirth he'd had moments ago.  
  
 _Because you are the Kinslayer_ , she almost said.    
  
"I don't know why I expect any different from you, wench." He drank again, wiping his hand across his mouth. "Do you want to know what happened that night?  The night I was in the armory fucking Cersei?"  
  
The only Cersei Brienne knew was Ned Stark's eldest daughter. Did Jaime mean her? Of course he did. Lady Cersei was known as a beautiful woman with the political strength to rival anyone's in the kingdom.    
  
"Jaime, I--"  
  
"No, I'll tell it. Tell it true." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Cersei had the only key to the armory, so we'd meet there at night. We would sneak away using the cellars when most everyone was asleep. But that night...was different. We heard two of Bolton's squires in a room, talking about daggers and poisons. The more we listened, the clearer it became that they weren't squires at all, but elves disguised as boys, with long hair to cover their ears  They talked about slitting throats, which weapons were the quietest, which poisons killed quickly enough to keep their victims from crying out.  
  
"It wasn't long before I realized that Bolton had hired them as a plot to take over Highever.  Bolton was a sniveling creep, giving with one hand and taking from another. It didn't surprise me.    
  
"I sent Cersei away and returned to the armory.  I took a dagger and made my way back to the assassins.  They never heard or saw me, and I slit their throats, right in their bedchamber.  I saw only blood, their blood and my rage. Before I knew it, I was killing Bolton's guards and then I was wrestling with Bolton himself before I stuck the dagger in his chest.  Bran's dog found me like that, barking and growling until the boy showed up and screamed enough to wake the whole castle."  
  
Brienne's hands shook around the bottle of water, her eyes glued to Jaime's face.  
  
"The next morning they branded me a traitor. Bolton had supped with us and we considered him family-- _Ned_ considered him family."  
  
Brienne found her voice at last. "D-didn't you tell Lord Stark?"  
  
He stared at the wall behind her with hard, glazed eyes. "Cersei lied. When I said that she heard the assassins as well as I did, she claimed to have never left her room. She...she chose her reputation over me." He shrugged. "Who would believe a bastard prince over Lord Stark's daughter? No one."  
  
His eyes flickered to hers. She expected to see anger, but instead Jaime only looked tired and sad.  
  
"Surely Lord Stark would have considered--"  
  
"No, Brienne. People see what they want to see." He leaned forward again, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him appear strong and broken all at once. "Every time you speak, the world hears a woman. But every time you swing a sword, they see a man."  
  
"A freak."  
  
He nodded. "But you're not. The same way they at me they see...a perversion, a threat. A bastard who doesn't know his place. And that was all before Roose Bolton _ever_ met me."  
  
All of this was nearly too much for Brienne to take in at once. The way he'd said _fucking Cersei_ played over in her mind. Why would he lie about this? Was he hoping to win her over to some cause of his? Did he mean to manipulate her?

What cause could he have, though? What could he possibly want to bind her to that they hadn't already faced together?  
  
 _He is telling the truth_ , she decided, surprised at how well the story fit. Fit him, fit the history books.  
  
Jaime went to pour more wine, but the flagon was empty, so his head fell against his arms atop the table. "By the Maker, Brienne, say _something_."  
  
"I trust you," she said.  
  
He lifted his head, the tops of cheeks were flushed from the wine. His eyes widened, and he blinked at her.  "And I you."  
  
He was drunk, clearly, but Brienne felt something within her soften, like a blade plunging easily through mud. _Your heart is as soft as any maid's_.  Too soft perhaps, she reflected, remembering Ser Goodwin's words.  But how far would she and Jaime get without trusting each other? Already their bond had been forged by the battle in Ostagar and strengthened by their journey through the Wilds. Jaime's confession had not changed that, she knew, and it was his deeds rather than his words that drew her to him.  
  
Across the table, Jaime snored.  
  
Brienne stared at him for a moment, chewing the inside of her lip. She yawned, as if inspired by his sudden drunken slumber, and she rose from her chair. She put another log on the fire and left Jaime to his snoring while she burrowed beneath the covers on her bed. Sleep found her almost instantly.  
  
Some time later, and as predictable as the sunrise, Brienne woke from another nightmare. She'd scarcely wiped the sweat from her brow before she felt Jaime's weight lower onto the bed next to her.  
  
"What are you doing?" She demanded, rolling over, her heart still racing from the memory of the archdemon.  
  
"Trust me." Jaime stretched out next to her, shirtless she realized with a shock, and he smoothed his hand over her arm.  
  
The low firelight danced over his body, almost setting it aglow. Absurdly, Brienne thought of kissing him, of pressing her palms into his chest and her lips against his mouth. She rolled over to keep herself from looking at him.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Brienne," he whispered, resting his hand on her hip.  
  
Before she could reply, he was snoring again.  
  
Brienne closed her eyes, wanting to think of Renly, reminding herself of his death and of Joffrey's malice. But her awareness of Jaime next to her clouded everything else. It was not exactly peace she found next to him, but a sort of comfort, an ease that soothed her.  
  
 _He faced a bear for me_ , she thought, the forceful drag of slumber taunting her. And with that, sleep found her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title (and similar line of dialogue) come from a Dragon Age 2 quest.
> 
> Next time: Mace Tyrell's political maneuverings and plotting the next steps in the Grey Wardens' adventure.


	17. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning at castle Redcliffe

When Jaime woke up, he was nuzzling Brienne's neck with his arm wrapped around her waist. He'd just realized his cock was standing at full mast between them--but beneath his breeches--when Brienne shoved him onto the floor.  
  
"You told me to trust you," she snarled, rounding the bed and stomping past him. "And I find you trying to assault me in my sleep." By then she was standing in front of the windows, thin beams of sunshine shooting through gaps in the curtains.  
  
"You could take it as a compliment," he murmured, pulling himself back onto the bed.  
  
"I know only one reason men like you would want to be with me." She waved her hands about like a madman. "I will not be some conquest for you, Jaime Lannister. Men like you have tried all my life to claim my maidenhead so they could prove me weak."  
  
Jaime pressed a pillow over his erection, flabbergasted as she flitted about the other side of the room. The way her shadow cut through the beams of light mesmerized him, and he remembered the shape of her hips by the campfire, and how her rump had felt against him just moments ago.  
  
The room felt unduly warm.  
  
"Men like me?" he nearly screeched. Was she comparing him to the likes of Hyle Hunt?  "I am not trying to claim you. Brienne," he pleaded, not daring to stand up lest he scandalize her further. "It happens to all men when they wake. Ask anyone and you will know I tell it true."  
  
She took a tunic from the dresser drawer and pulled it over the shirt she already wore.  The linen was a soft blue, he realized as a beam of sunshine lit upon it.  
  
"Then why did you tell me to take it as flattery?"  
  
He should mention the shape of her ass just to show her what a flatterer he could be. Or better yet tell her that blue tunic would make her eyes shine all the brighter. "A jest, nothing more. I respect you Brienne, and I would never take any woman against her will, certainly not you."  
  
"I would never allow it, Kinsl--" She stopped short, chewing on her lip and glancing to the floor.  
  
For half a moment, Jaime thought she would say it, but Brienne only found her swordbelt and fastened it around her waist, silent.  
  
He need not remind her that he awoke many a morning in such a state, whether she were next to him or not. She must truly be a maid to be ignorant of such things.  
  
Jaime thought of Ser Hyle and the man's idiotic attempts at bedding Brienne the day before. If Hyle wanted to woo the Maid of Tarth, he'd need more than a few words of innuendo.  Brienne was innocent, but she was not stupid.  
  
Jaime spied her inspecting her wounds, with her back turned to him.  He felt a sudden wave of protectiveness settle over him.  She did not need him to watch over her, he knew, but he wanted to do it all the same. Or to do a better job of it, anyhow.  
  
Brienne caught him staring. "You are still half naked and in my bed."  
  
 _So I am._ The thought made him realize that his erection had not diminished in the slightest.  _Our bed_ he wanted to say, but it was nonsense. He pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped around himself.  
  
"Good morning, my lady." He gave her an ostentatious bow and let himself out the door.  
  
==  
  
Jaime smiled mischievously at any servant he happened upon as he made his way back to his own room. With enough luck, word would reach Ser Hyle that Jaime spent the night in Brienne's bedchamber and that would put an end to any more of the knight's flirtations.  
  
Not that Jaime cared in the slightest.  
  
When Jaime had dressed, finding clean clothes laid out on his bed, a page came saying that Lord Tyrell had summoned them all to break their fast with the family. This would be the best time to ask Tyrell for his aide, Jaime realized, and as he walked to the morning room, he dreamed of horses and new armor, but strangely not of a larger tent.  
  
==  
  
Loras sat the farthest away from the family, down at the foot of the table, but Brienne still felt him scowling at her. Whenever she looked at him, she only thought of Renly, so Brienne did her best to focus on eggs and bacon instead.  
  
When Jaime arrived, he slid into the seat next to her before the footman could direct him anywhere else. A blush creeped up her cheeks as she remembered him bare-chested in bed with her. Last night had been foolish. But he'd told her about Roose Bolton, and about Cersei, and Jaime had looked too tired and lost for her to have turned him away.  
  
This morning was a different matter, however. Any woman would be a fool not to desire Jaime Lannister, and Brienne especially would be even more the fool to think he desired her in return.  It was not fear that had her shoving him away from her but self-loathing that she had for one moment entertained thoughts of doing more than sleeping with the Kinslayer. _Jaime_ , she corrected herself.  
  
He reached in front of her for the flagon of mead on the table, his toothy grin in place. She could barely see his dimples beneath all that stubble, but she knew they were there all the same. She crunched on a slice of salty, savory bacon, wondering why she cared at all about his dimples.  
  
Lord Tyrell, Margery, Ser Hyle, and Jaime chattered on about the morning and about the castle and the food, and Brienne paid it little mind as she broke the yolk of her fried egg and spread the flavorful yellow syrup across her plate.  
  
No one spoke of Renly or Joffrey, or Oberyn who'd Brienne assumed was too low of station to eat with the family. Brienne reasoned that Renly's and Margery's betrothal must not have been a love match for all the gentle smiles and jovial words Margery threw around the table. Brienne couldn't decide if that was a blessing or not, but in truth she never wanted to wed Renly. She never wanted to wed anyone, really, because marriage only meant staying on Tarth having children, and Brienne did not want children, she wanted adventures.  
  
It wasn't until Jaime was laughing absurdly next to her, nearly elbowing her in the ribs that Brienne returned her attention to the conversation at hand.  
  
Across the table, Lord Tyrell frowned at him while Ser Hyle looked on, clearly appalled.  
  
"It is your right," Tyrell grunted.  
  
"I'm a bastard," Jaime said, chuckling. "You can't be serious."  
  
"I am and so is Lord Stark, Ser Jaime. You are the rightful heir to the throne, and we mean to put you there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my allusion to Asha. :)
> 
> Next time: Brienne and Jaime discuss Lord Tyrell's announcement.


	18. Not What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime spars with Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope those of you who don't know Dragon Age aren't confused by who's who in Jaime's family. A quick rundown:
> 
> Jaime is the bastard son of King Maric. Maric also had a trueborn son, Cailan, who was king at the start of the story.
> 
> Maric and Stannis were basically besties, and Cailan ended up marrying Stannis's daughter Anora.
> 
> Please let me know if any of that is super confusing. Crossovers are hard, sometimes.

Jaime was not surprised to find Brienne on the sparring grounds after breakfast. However, his mind was still reeling from Lord Tyrell's announcement, so he said nothing as he found a sparring sword and went to work on one of the many sparring dummies across the grounds. Coincidentally, it was next to Brienne's.  
  
The sword work only eased some of his anger. All of his life, his late father, Lord Stark, and other lordlings like Mace Tyrell ensured that Jaime knew his place in the world. It was no coincidence that Jaime was made a ward in the holding farthest from the capital, ensuring Jaime paid the price for his father's indiscretion while Jaime's brother, Cailan, reaped the benefits.  
  
He hated it. He hated how they considred him as a pawn to use to their benefit. Hated that until he was someone of value, no one gave a thought to his well-being.  He would not play into their games. He could cite historic precedence. Generations ago, Grey Wardens warred with Ferelden's monarch. The nobility would be fools to put a Grey Warden on the throne. Stannis would never stand for it, nor would other lords, Jaime told himself.  
  
"You should not shirk your duty," Brienne said, making inexpert work with the sword in her left hand.  
  
"What duty is that?" Jaime gave the dummy an unsatisfying slice. He found no relief in fighting stationary blocks of wood.  
  
"Your father's family has ruled the kingdom since we brokered our independence. Putting a Lannister on the throne would restore peace."  
  
Jaime dropped the sword to his side and turned to her. "You can't be serious." Was she really so obtuse? "I'm the Kinslayer, in case you forgot."  
  
By then she'd stopped her ridiculous left-handed whacks and stared at him. "Why not tell the truth? If you could sit on the throne, you'd rule enough soldiers to stop the darkspawn, and we could have this blight over quickly."  
  
He squinted his eyes at her. "You think it's so easy as that? You think Stannis would just roll over because I have the blood of a king?"  
  
She stared at the ground, making circles in the dirt with her sparring sword. "Not Stannis, no. But if Lord Stark calls a Landsmeet, it all could be settled peaceably."  
  
Jaime wanted to scream at her. He thought maybe she'd see reason, but now she was barking platitudes at him. Only to Brienne they weren't platitudes but makings of the delusion of honorable world she lived in.  He gripped his sword and lunged at her blade, lifting it and her arm up.  
  
She sank into her combat stance, and he drove at her again, forcing her to scramble backwards before the sword grazed her good shoulder.  He could win this bout in an instant, he knew, but he only wanted to knock some sense into her, not overpower her.  
  
"I have the blood of darkspawn, too," he said. "Or have you forgotten that?"  
  
"No." She met his slice with a parry that reminded him of a squire's work. He pressed on.  
  
"I'll be dead in twenty years or so, if the blight doesn't kill me first. I can't produce any heirs.  All these lords see is a chance to control the kingdom. They can't see past their lust of  power to know what they ask of me."  
  
"And what do they ask of you?"    
  
They were both sweating. Jaime had let his fury overtake his sense. He should not be pressing her so, not with the wound in her shoulder and her trying to fight him with her weaker arm.  
  
"Marriage," he said, gentling his next maneuver. "Small councils. Holding court."  He thought of Margery Tyrell and the girl's simpering smiles. Next, he recalled Sansa Stark, who was at least two and ten years younger than him, but old enough to marry, all the same.  
  
"You do not wish to marry?"  Brienne studied his eyes, no doubt trying to predict his next attack. But he paused a moment, searching those pools of blue.  
  
"Not some simple-minded girl, no," he said, holding his pose but not moving against her. Brienne took his hesitance to go on the attack and she arced the sword toward him. He knocked it away, quick and easy.  
  
"Do you wish to marry?" He wondered aloud, surprised that he cared to ask her such a thing.  
  
"My father wishes me to marry."  
  
"And he let you join the Grey Wardens?"  
  
"He only wants me to have an heir," she said, her speech stilted as she blocked his next thrust.  
  
He thought briefly of Brienne's bulky frame swelling with a child. _She doesn't know. Because I didn't tell her_.  Jaime flicked his sword, knocking Brienne's blade from her grasp.  
  
She gasped in surprise, glancing from him to the sword lying in the dirt.  
  
"Don't overwork yourself," he said, reaching for the blade before she could pick it up again. She worked her mouth like she was trying to tell him something, but after a moment she pressed her lips together.  He stared at them, wondering if she'd ever been thoroughly kissed. Unlikely, he decided, but he wanted to know all the same, just to be sure.  
  
"You will not have children," he told her instead, inclining his head toward the armory to return the swords. "Mormont meant to tell you. Meant to tell you many other things, too."  
  
She stopped short, her left hand suddenly pressing into her belly. Jaime felt a hint of sadness watching her digest the information.  He deposited their swords in a bucket outside the armory and walked toward the parapet where they could look out onto the village.  
  
Instead of offering her comfort, he continued. "Unlikely anyway. It's the darkspawn blood. More like a slow poison than a potion. No Warden I know has fathered or birthed a living child. Most are stillborn who come out marked with the blight sickness."  
  
She made fists at her sides. "That's--that's horrid."  
  
He should point out all the more reason to keep him well away from the kingship. Instead, he took her hand as a gentle breeze wafted over them.  
  
"I wouldn't blame you if you resented Mormont for not telling you. He was set on keeping so many secrets for fear no one would join the order if they knew otherwise."  
  
Her eyes flitted from the horizon and to their hands before meeting his gaze. "He had his reasons, I'm sure," she murmured.  
  
For once Jaime could not read her eyes; he didn't know if she were more surprised or saddened by this revelation. How could she understand Mormont's intentions easily when she balked at Jaime's resistance to take the throne?  
  
Did Brienne ever want children? She didn't seem like the sort.   
  
But she was the sort to carry out her father's wishes, Jaime decided. And based on what he knew of Lord Tarth and the man's small holdings, Brienne would certainly figure prominently into those plans.  
  
"My father keeps mistresses," she announced, as if talking to herself. "Perhaps he'll sire a child with one of them."  
  
"Perhaps," he murmured, wondering why he was still holding her hand. "You could always name an heir. It is not so unusual. Would you change the name of the isle then? Lady Adrienne Smith, of the Isle of Smith?" he teased.  
  
She proffered him a smile--which wasn't really a smile as much as it was not a frown--and Jaime chuckled at her.  
  
"When I am healed, Ser Jaime," she said, "you will have to spar with me again. Your win today was hardly fair. But I thank you for the practice, all the same."  
  
Did she think she could best him in a fair fight? She was good, but not so good as him, Jaime was sure.  
  
"Whatever you say, wench."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by the Guster song "What You Wish For."
> 
> Next time: Some more time at Redcliffe before heading north to Highever and the Starks.


End file.
